1 in 20 in 5

five years, five percent

hope. patience. luck.

an apple

dangling from my liver

picked, 49 staples 

graft me together

margins clear

certainty bruised

a fear tree, 

quietly takes root

sown in my heart,

seeds tendril deep into red tissue 

the wonderful unbearable

knowing of a life’s end

rooted but left unwatered, 

at the back of a quiet field

on a scrap of white paper 

a penciled wish: to stay

I place it in a mason jar, lid screwed tight, 

bury it in the earth

each spring, blood work and scans

tick April's calendar

new buds of worry 

push into ventricles, lungs

heart beats faster

breath gets short

at five years, I stand in tender field

dig up the jar, brush away the dirt

hold the paper in my fist  

unfurl my hand, 

let the wish tumble 

like apples, to the ground.

_____________

Published in Sky Island Journal, Oct 2022