3 p.m., Dec. 11
- Alexis Rhone Fancher is the author of How I Lost My Virginity to Michael Cohen and other heart-stab poems.
I want to tell my friend I’ll miss her
A poem by Alexis Rhone Fancher
- Midnight, and again I’m chasing
- sleep: its fresh-linen smell and
- deep sinking, but when I close my eyes I see
- my son, closing his eyes. I’m afraid of that dream,
- the tape looped demise as cancer claims him.
- My artist friend cancels her L.A. trip. Unplugs the
- internet. Reverts to source. If cancer
- will not let go its grip then she will
- return its embrace. Squeeze the life out of
- her life. Ride it for all it’s worth.`
- By the time his friends arrive at the cabin
- my son is exhausted, stays behind while
- the others set out on a hike. He picks up the phone.
- “Mom, it’s so quiet here. The air has never
- been breathed before. It’s snowing.”
- I put on Mozart. A warm robe. Make a pot
- of camomile tea. The view from my 8th floor
- window, spectacular, the sliver moon, the stark,
- neon-smeared buildings, their windows dark.
- Sometimes I think I am the only one not sleeping.
- My artist friend wants to draw the rain. She
- wants to paint her memories, wrap the canvas
- around her like a burial shroud.
- Tonight, a girl in a yellow dress stands below
- my window, top lit by a street lamp, her long shadow
- spilling into the street. She’s waiting for someone.
- I want to tell my friend I’ll miss her.
- I want to tell my son I understand.
- I want to tell the girl he won’t be coming.
- That it’s nothing personal. He died young.
- (First published in Broadzine, 2014)