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Thursday, February 25, 2010

Fear

Since my brother’s cancer came back
I’ve tasted dirty pennies.
Not a stick of Dentyne - not a
cigarette will stave it off.
Sipping a cold martini from
a hand painted glass I bought to
make me feel better masks it for
only the moment.

Awake at three-thirty, I blot
sweat from my face, brush my teeth
wash down Xanax with water from
a plastic bottle.

The pounding in my chest subsides.
At last I sleep - hair dried in
curly mats against my pillow.


© cj Schlottman

Originally published as "Rage." Revised June 5, 2011

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