Here is her poem.
I wake up in a new country.
The streets are paved in salt.
Breakfast is a single egg.
An unfamiliar tune
Bells, a woodwind
Make me homesick.
Here is mine.
narrow path
prescribed
by chemo
and infection -
I feel like a cow
standing on a hill
chewing my cud
as the world passes by -
but the cow doesn’t have
an internet connection,
or wireless phones -
She’s got milk.
I’ve got clones.
my brain is stuck
I mean it is really stuck -
nothing comes to mind
no puzzles or cliches
not one thing to juggle,
jiggle or display -
my brain is stuck
like a model
made of clay -
or a snowwoman
before she melts
in the warmth
of a winter day -
MOMA
conventions, conferences,
and I am here asleep
taking a nap,
a catnap
while the world
is a lion, stalking and roaring,
and I am a song,
little notes
sprung in the air,
hopping, like turtles,
plogging along.
