Cancer
The word alone could erupt into a tumor:
bean-sized, heavy as a fishing weight,
tiny but ripe, and warty as a winter squash.
Or an insidious mole, daily growing
darker under clothes like fatal ink. A disease
like exotic seeds that slip across borders
and flourish, crowding and corrupting
the native plants, breeding in the blind
quickness of vines. Voracious. As inevitable
as neglected summer cabbage
that unharvested, unfolds madly
into an ugly purple flower. Huge
and hungry thick-veined blossom—
I never planted that.
--Amy
Beeder
Copyright © 1996 by Free Lunch Arts Alliance
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