It was early October.
I’d hoped it might be different—
cancer returned,
cursed a blessing,
healed unseen wounds.
Disoriented,
I lay in warm sheets,
fighting again.
It would end me—
unless I found a reason
to believe.
The last time I drank rum
from a bottle in a brown paper bag,
I ended up in rehab.
Now, I’d die sober
before drinking again.
A prayer for Elissa
quivered on my lips.
Tears followed.
She rode every loop with me.
Her voice rose—
sharp with the insurance company,
bills tossed
among get-well cards
overflowing the trash.
Nurse Paisley checked in.
She told me a dirty joke,
prayed for me,
soft pleas made me believe.
I laughed at everything, nothing—
twisted humor was all I had.
The doctor’s words
left me shivering
as the sun sank.
I was a stranger in my own flesh,
almost gone in my head,
uncertain the cancer would die
before I turned forty-five.
Framed art of saints, sailors,
lined beige walls,
even lights,
Maxim pages turned.
Crimson, gold leaves
gleamed under the streetlight.
A memory fed a smile—
meeting under the birch,
mistletoe,
a kiss.
I blinked through mistakes
until my lids weighed shut.
“Do you want to tell him?”
Elissa’s breath was quick.
“Tell me what?” I said.
Paisley hugged a clipboard.
“It’s gone,” she said, wiping tears.
“It’s gone!” Elissa kissed my forehead.
I gave her a wild glance. “You’re—”
“Serious,” Elissa said.
Paisley smiled, voice trembling.
“We waited to be sure.”
“That’s why I’ve been reading more,”
I said, stroking the stubble on my jaw.
“You’ve been hungry, too.” Paisley grinned.
The doctor entered, confirmed it—
I was cured.
Somehow, God found me.
“For the first time, in a long time,
I wanted to live,” I said.
“Then let’s live,” she said,
brushing my cheek,
wearing my ring.
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