Talking with my friend who has cancer

Next thing I know, my friend does not sound 

like herself on the phone. 

Her voice crawls on elbows through 

the tunnel between us.  

Dragging, unresponsive

as if her body's motor can't turn over.  

The musical patterns remain--a few light notes, 

a pulse of laugh, a few light notes, 

another pulse.  .  

I think of ways to make her laugh 

--it's always been so easy. 

My thoughts remain out of sight

far from the tumor hidden like a stump 

along the rolling hills of her brain.  

I am told, let the patient lead conversation. 

And so I wait for her next words. 

While so,  I recall the ceiling of chandeliers 

at Home Depot. 

Each a sparkling castle, 

each crystal nudged by a gust 

to tap against the edge 

of the body of the other.