She had to get a haircut
so I went to hold her hand.
The barber carried razors,
keeping to her strange demand.
The yellow hair fell fast and thick
when she said, “Cut it off.”
The tears fell down her gentle face
to land on hairy cloth.
She stroked her stretchy, bulb-shaped head.
The stubble felt like grain.
The fact that this would last for months
would make her feel insane.
Her friends stumbled for words to keep
her skin from turning grey.
The sickening paleness that she’d get
just deepened every day.
This was more than hair for her
so I stayed by her side.
Here was I, she was there;
we hoped she wouldn’t die.
I kissed her feeling lifeless lips;
she hooked to the IV.
The last one that she’d ever feel,
she said that she loved me.
The cancer killed her very quick,
I never said “goodbye.”
I couldn’t say it, having cheated,
and look her in the eye.
Created: Jan 31, 2012TheVinCat Document Media