Spring

After - it's almost like

waking

from a dream.

You're told the cancer's

gone

(but you've been told that before)

and you slowly, slowly

inch back to normal life.

Here and there

in dirty snow piles

along the road

is the detritus

of another winter

gone by.

A milk jug

here,

a glove

there.

Who are we

now?

Were those

our things?

Will it ever

truly

warm up again?

Right now there is

trash

in the grass.

But wait -

what's that smell?

Do I smell -

spring?

The sodden earth

will soak up the snow, giving

life to the roots

of flowers,

of trees.

They'll peep up at first,

hesitant,

then stronger.

Stronger.

Like us.

Like the butterflies

nestled in cocoons,

waiting for the right moment

to emerge.

Once I read

an awful short story

and learned

if you help a butterfly

out

of it’s cocoon

you kill it.

It gains the strength

it needs to fly

with the very act

of breaking out

of the cocoon itself.

I feel like that

struggling butterfly.

Can somebody

give me a hand,

please?

But apparently

this is my road

to walk.

It’s still cold right now;

the air is sharp.

But there's that hint

of the promise

of spring.

It is enough.

————————————————————————————————————————

Did you experience any disorientation when or if your sibling was declared cancer-free? Did you struggle to believe it, especially if they’ve had cancer more than once? What helps, as you slowly break out of your cocoon? What hurts? Let’s discuss in the comments.