My daughter asked:
“Can I have a Clonazapam, dad?”
“You bet.”
Why argue with a stage 4 sarcoma?
It could take a week to become dependant.
Why worry?
Waiting for death
Pumps her anxiety
And mine.
She swallows the pink pill,
Hoping she will not vomit.
I take one too
To provide company,
And wait for its silent click
In both her and my mind.
For some reason,
Her click is much louder,
And she breathes
Into a sick sleep,
Thanking me
With a squeeze of her porcelain hand.
****
Back to Poetry Galley