Could not make an appearance

for Father’s Day.

No card? No gift?

They say it’s OK.


Christmas and New Years:

what are those, again?

One requires counting

backwards from ten.


My niece and my nephew

never are told

if Auntie is coming –

“She is sick again,

and she’s getting old.”


I am sick all of the time.

Not some of the time,

all of the time.

For would not being well some of the time,

be exposed as some sort

of infinite crime?


All of your tasks are simply not done,

All of your tasks are not simply done,

all of them,

all of them,

not just some.


Very little you do with the time that you have,

What you manage to do while you’re awake

takes double the time that it used to take.

More time stretches before your eyes

people comfort you with their lies.


Your disease, like a thief

will creep, every night,

steal your time, your dreams, and all of your life

Will gleefully stamp your love and your light.


You collapse, despondent –

you wither, you shake

and sob in the calmness of the day’s wake.


~Marlies Vonn