Remembering the Girl with Cancer

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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, 2012

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