By Jessie Woodyard
No one tells you
That the first place someone looks
Someone who hasn't seen you
since you were diagnosed
is your chest.
Eyes straight to your breasts.
Are they still there?
Which one is gone?
Do they look the same to you?
How about my eyes?
How do they look?
Do they look through tears
at you
stealing your glance?
Or are they clear and wide,
aware and sad?
No one tells you about the drain.
How it's the worst part
until just before it's the worst part of you.
The drain of this illness
It is a metaphor and it is real
and it sucks, like a vacuum
and in every sense of the word.
No one tells you
That immediate isn't immediately
But in fact drawn out
Like the word YES written on my chest
in ink that takes weeks
to remove.
No one tells you
No one tells you about the return
The blood return that you want to see
The return of the cancer, malignancy
That fear....
No one tells you it's permanent.
No one tells you about the fights
Miscommunication, misunderstanding
Nothing feels right.
No one tells you
That you may beat it this time
but this fear is for life.
An uninvited partner
for as long as you all shall live.
In sickness and even in health
No one tells you.
I guess no one knows.
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