Wobbling along the cancer time-line
My bed is warm
I’m dreaming.
A cupboard door bangs.
“Are you alright?”
No sound.
I fight through the mosquito net
He’s on the floor
“Sorrysorrysorry”
I can’t pick him up
So we work with a chair
An elbow
A knee
An arm on the bed.
Eventually
Unsteadily
But at last
On his own two feet.
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