Waiting Room.

The day I found out you were dying
was at the age of young
and mama came home smelling like chlorine
with salt dried in falling lines down her face

Those lines formed a web
that preyed on my fear, they told me
“it won’t be okay”
yet even then you had rock sugar in your pockets

I walked toward you,
paper gown hanging like
weak armed children on monkey bars
and you chuckled and waved me closer

Bounced the ice cream from my hand
and sunk your gums into it
said “I am okay”
and pouted your sagging lips to make me laugh

The second time I found out you were dying
was at the age of yesterday
and I couldn't smell mama
but I smelt rock sugar

She said “I am sick”
with a cold that seeps through
the veins veering toward her heart
“it won’t be okay”

It snowed again today
white as the hair of your head
crispy as the skin of your chest
that cradles a heart so ready for cold

The day I found out you were dying
I realised you’d been living
more than any of us had been living
and dying less than any of us are dying

The day I found out you were dying
I refused to cry
because it will never be okay,
but it will be more.

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