When you approach from further away
she looks... swollen... overfed... pregnant
but then you start to notice the signs
the spine set apart from the body
the angle she holds her head,
it suggests resignation... defeat.
You come closer still and
she lays down on the tile
trying to keep her failing body cool
The tumors press hard against her lungs
and with each breath her ribs must stretch
far beyond their original design
They look almost like gills
And I fantasize that she has
become a fish ready to find water
but that's a silly thought.
You feel her frame and notice
how her cells are eating what food remains
trying to replenish the blood leaking from her spleen
those little nubs on her ankle
are little more then empty sacks now
a further reminder of how far she has fallen
she used to be so fast-
and now she can't even manage
to walk, at least without panting
when that happens, she looks happy.
She is five years old
and this cancer is as random
as the force that gave her life
that little mutation that killed her
no different then the ones that birthed her
a chaotic sequence of tragic events.
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