Flowers on the windowsill. Such pleasure in their colors and blooms.
Yesterday a haze of exhaustion. Wandering. Up and down stairs.
Water.
My mind a sluice with this thought, that. No order.
Post-infusion low counts and a ton called not going on my belly. Aka: sit down. Aka: not today.
Taxotere. Cold slide into my veins and killing the quick cells. Do your work.
How the sun, beautiful wanderer, lights up all the kitchen jars and vases like a song through glass. I can almost hear it.
Oh, warmth. Oh, living.
And arrival. Here now.
What else was it that I wanted? What else did I ever ask for?
Pink Stinks 