34 of 95

by Valerie Zwald

My grandmother called it "the animal"
She would say it was eating her
Feasting on her
From the inside out
She was angry, my grandmother, not a willing host
It did not matter
The animal did eat her, did devour her
No one else saw the violence in her death
Only I knew the gruesome truth

As she lay, calm and still in her coffin
I wondered if the animal had left
Anything inside of her
If she were hollow, empty
A shell
She did not look empty
She did not look angry, either
But I knew better

In the years since
The animal has stalked prey
All around me
I have watched them fall, one by one
Battling, fighting
Burning, cutting
Quiet, valiant battles
Heroism in hospital gowns
Why can't anyone else see the carnage?
Why am I the only one?

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Poetry: Cancer

by Valerie Zwald

Poetry: Cancer

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