Patient 1 in 100,000

An elegy hummed through my eardrums
for days after your diagnosis.

Neuromyelitis Optica—
stutter in your spinal cord; static
staffed immune system.

You said the odds
were like a lottery
lacking a jackpot.

The clock ticks on
obnoxiously—never to let you forget
we’re on borrowed time,

And we have so much to accomplish
in the five years you’re still alive.

tick
You slumber through the summer
and say you’ll show yourself eventually.

tick
By autumn your esophagus is raw
from spilling so many guts.

tick
Your pills collide and click together,
Speaking a truth you cannot keep down.

tick
I watch you wither away winter’s winds
in a condition crippling you by the minute.
Nerves tinge in blisteriness, you’re
blindsided by blackened vision.

tick
It’s not easy
grieving in advance,
but what choice is ever given?

When the right hand inevitably strikes zero,
how could I continue on living?

tick
Nobody told me how hard it is hugging someone
who’s lost the ability to hug back.

tick
or the fact that loss begins before the absence
and time doesn’t spare a single soul its countdown.

tick
I have crafted your deathbed into resting perfection.
I have started growing rose gardens.
I will ruin my credit
if it means you will exit the world
as beautifully as you’ve met it.

tick

tick

tick