Art & poetry by Angelique Cain
Sisters
Last Laughter
I don’t know what got into us, but thank god Mama wasn’t there
to see us laugh in the face of death and dare The Old Man to
strike us dead.
That laugh is a compass I wear in my hair
so I can find you again in the dark, and when I do our hearts
clink back together and I’m a whole sister again. Just think,
you said. Imagine this:
My body is giving up every scrap of extra
just to keep me alive so we can sit together and
bother about my death and plan to
charge this credit card up to my baggy butt. And laugh.
Because death is about life. But—no buts.
You cannot save me. You can only help me go. Oh, no.
Walk it off, you said. You’re not the one dying. It’s my turn.
Your chemo skin swirled around you like moths, and your bald
face split into a laugh like lava, like a hot spring bubbling upward,
like a token you passed to me, like you never laughed in your life.
I don’t know what got into us, but thank god Mama wasn’t there
to see us laugh in the face of death and dare The Old Man to
strike us dead.
That laugh is a compass I wear in my hair
so I can find you again in the dark, and when I do our hearts
clink back together and I’m a whole sister again. Just think,
you said. Imagine this:
My body is giving up every scrap of extra
just to keep me alive so we can sit together and
bother about my death and plan to
charge this credit card up to my baggy butt. And laugh.
Because death is about life. But—no buts.
You cannot save me. You can only help me go. Oh, no.
Walk it off, you said. You’re not the one dying. It’s my turn.
Your chemo skin swirled around you like moths, and your bald
face split into a laugh like lava, like a hot spring bubbling upward,
like a token you passed to me, like you never laughed in your life.
Witchie sisters near the bleeding hearts
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Angelique Cain lives in the land of bourbon and horses with two black cats and three wee dogs. Her poems have been published in Poetry Nook, Moonchild Magazine, and Occulum. She’s @paperbatty on Twitter.
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