Second Cancer

It’s the way everything returns
to normal. It’s the time
I spend like Friday’s pay.
I make plans again, while
the maples spread their pollen
in the yard. Then the doctor
calls for another test, and I
feel the night grow larger.
I think only of the lab—cells
divided on thin, clear glass.
Each flaw magnified
the way morning light glares
your age, dust on the nightstand,
loose thread in the area rug.
Every imperfection
in the arrangement
you’ve made with yourself
suddenly flooding your eyes.
SECOND CANCER by Susan Trofimow

Photo used under CC


About Author


Susan Trofimow is a writer based in Boston, MA. Her work has appeared in LUMINA, 3Elements Literary Review, Pretty Owl Poetry, River Heron Review, Barren Magazine, Rust + Moth and others.

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