Prognosis

I am spending more time

with my prognosis:

dying

this death that seems slow

but won’t at the end

 

instead of putting on a sweater

and waiting in the office

for the name of it

 

I am lying in the sun

and letting rain touch me

 

the diagnosis sparks

such gossip

as if it were rare

 

did you know she is dying?

the telephones shrill

or thumbs sketch out conjecture

 

as if it were unheard of

and not inevitable

as if the support group

is exclusive

 

keeping you out

 

…welcome.

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