He said he didn’t understand why he had cancer.
He said he’d been a good man. Fluorescent lights
Flickered above the bed. The curtains were
Closed even though it was just after lunch.
He hadn’t been able to eat anything. His stomach
Was bulging, and he was in pain. I couldn’t
Tell him then that why almost never has an answer.
I could only have told him how, that a cancer
Had started in his colon and spread to his liver,
But that wasn’t what he was asking.
Published in Sheila-Na-Gig., A poetry journal & small press, The Poets: Volume 10.2, Winter 2025
