What do brave cancer patients/survivors do that cancer patients/survivors who aren’t brave don’t do? What do strong cancer patients/survivors do that cancer patients/survivors who aren’t strong don’t do?
searching for someone who gives a fuck and isn’t afraid to say so: sometimes they are closer than you think, even if they are further away than others you had previously pinned your hopes on.
What colour is cancer? Not the colour of cheerful ribbons. Not the pink of awareness, or fun-run t-shirts, or a decorative brooch. The colour of cancer is blood red to me, the kind of red that makes my stomach flip over. Red trespassing where it isn’t supposed to be. The white walls of the disinfected…
cunning copper creeping, auburn shadows stalking leaves like urban predators – grasping and smothering them with tentacles, tangling emerald with marigold, pine and pear with honey, mustard with pumpkin, meshing garnet with caramel and dusky cinnamon with avocado. raw, rustic rainbow. leaves flush from green to gold, faces glistening as they are pulled from summer’s…
be selective with your thoughts let only the helpful ones in, let only the relevant ones in – the now-thoughts, the kind thoughts, thoughts that you would pluck out of your brain and place inside the brain of your best friend.
Awaiting acutely, aching and awake – far too awake, alert, I wait for days. Artificial acrobatics, an armful of blood gone anxiety escalated, awaiting alleviation. After Thursday, agitation quietened, quickly quelled, dispelled until next time, assessments and appointments, awaiting a verdict again – not-so-merry-go-round.
Young teenagers are deaf to the caring, clumsy racket terrorising me. Listening upright on the pillows I dare hurt myself more.
Out, out our routine sparking art
Hugging, enthused for Florence – the flights, the village. You’ll stay glued, but May, the influx of boats, the excitement, the calm cathedral.