I have wanted to write your story for so long now

I think about it often

lashings of anecdotes that lay forgotten

When I wake up to pray

my head rests on your prayer mat

I say the foreign words

my tongue in constant movement

words that take me home

I think about you when I write the shopping list

how my handwriting looks so much like yours now

I think about your wrists during the chemo

pale like my writing paper

the way the Taxol entered your veins

a colourless death

I remember your fragile breaking bones

It was so systematic wasn’t it?

First the breast

some kidney

snippets in the brain

lastly liver

I think about it in the bath

As I wash the day off my skin

When I write your name on the foggy mirror

Write the date

five years & two whole months

before my heart breaks again

I wipe it clean

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.