lady with cancer

I say hi
to the lady
wearing nothing
but a big, blue shirt.

She holds a paint brush
primed to paint

pots for two seedlings.

Most of her hair
has fallen out
but what spikes are left,
she's dyed a spunky red.

Clothes make her
skin itch
so she's stripped
right down
to bare essentials:

plant pots
to plant trees in
and a paint brush
to colour herself
away from pastel.

She holds on tight
to her smile.
At the top of the steps
she is leaning
narrow
as a heron.

burning up

Now shake, sun, shake
all you like, shower
light over red
rhododendron flowers,

green, ivy spikes; twist lips
to glint like shields, slice
black yards to frame all pretty things.
I will not be sucked in

this time. Appearances
deceive; your open-armed display
of affection does not hold my lean
into you, too easily

you dissolve and I fall
into the frail chill of cobweb
whispers that lie under
your sweet air and dance.

I know that you are old;
a withered, ancient
wizard with brilliant timing
in a dark universe

burning up. You ride, sun,
for a fall. I calculate
your rise, avoid your decline;
never again will you sway me.

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