by Stacey Torres

Created on: November 17, 2010

I brought flowers and fruit to you

And was surprised to see a stranger sitting there

Quietly, reserved and demure

Never taking his eyes off of you.

I knew you had been ill and thus the reason

For my visit, though late, I apologize

Should I have brought soup instead of the fruit?

You fidget with your blanket, unable to meet my gaze.

And the stranger in the corner so rudely

Sips from your tea cup

His eyes laughing going from you to me to you

Always back to you.

I don't believe we have met, I clip at the stranger

Feeling awkward there with him in the room

And his cold, eyes twinkle for just a moment

As he shrugs a small grin into his thin mouth.

Taking one last gulp of your tea

He leans back in his chair and speaks in a cool

Drained voice,

Oh, but we will, we will - meet again, that is.

I gaze back and suddenly realize his face is clear,

Transparent and blank

With black holes for eye sockets that resemble

Dirty walnut shells.

His fingers are gnarled and red, with nails that

Curl and curl and curl

He smells like rotten seafood left in the sun

On the parched sidewalk of a seaside ghost town.

Desperately I turn to you in wonder

Who in the world is this?

Who not of this world is this?

You strain to explain ...

Your eyes so tiny so empty and clouded

Struggle to meet my own

But their pain speaks volumes as I

Finally understand.

It is cancer who sits in the chair

By your bed

Cancer who waits for no one;

Not you; not me ...

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