On the Way to the Mayo Clinic

The coffee tastes the same 
as so many years ago,
black and burned. 
The same diner,
probably the same booth.

“You’re doing fine,” 
the doctor had said, 
but you weren’t, not 
with scars, one breast, 
a limp, and memory loss. 

But at that moment 
you were past caring
about doctors and battles 
with disease. You didn’t eat, 
frustrated by your tremor

and too proud to be fed. 
Three times was enough, you said, 
smiling, and maybe we wouldn’t 
make the trip again. You didn’t
want to fight anymore. 

Within weeks the cancer returned
a fourth time, quicker and more 
relentless than before, pushing 
your chest outwards, wrapping 
around your organs, and leaving 
you breathless and drained.

Yet you said nothing and endured it. 
Then swallowing became impossible
and you finally had enough. Still smiling, 
with your dignity intact, you slipped away 
peacefully.

Now with pain and admiration
I look for your courage
in this coffee cup.

Published in Verse-Virtual, January 2018