The Interim (A Poem)

He is laughing at something on TV. My breath
scrapes over my teeth, back into a diseased body. Tears
slide in havoc, no tool to reverse them, remote

rewind.  Before this year, we didn't know I had cancer.

Months until we find out if I still do. A horror
movie villain downed with a shovel. Will
there be a sequel to this, a round two? Fights wear

on a person.  Depression has followed him this year, ate

away the light in his eyes. The light I give, I take
like a goddess in a sadistic carnival. Misery
unmeasured, delights on display.  "I'm sorry."

I ache to say to his damage.  I caused this unhappiness.

"It's not you," he says, like we're breaking up.
Close to the breakdown.  When he laughs in joy,
I cry because it's a rare sound.

I wrote this in 2017 after radiation therapy was completed.  I try not to write too many poems about cancer (I think I've written four in total) because someone has probably said everything better than I can.