The Architecture of Oncology

The Architecture of Oncology

Ghosts walk back and forth
reflected in the waiting room windows
like ruby slippers dancing over yellow bricks
while we sit in chairs built sturdy

for those who are no longer

Downstairs, radiation leaks
through cracks in my heart,
blurring lines between memories,
like sun through clapboards into dusty dark,

carefree as hair blowing in Caribbean breezes,
and I-love-you’s scratched into a frosted cocktail bar
and dirty martinis with extra olives.
Leaks like wind between autumn and winter,

while butchers carve the living from the dead,
and shadows of lovers from loved ones.
Holding hands, holding elbows,
they shuffle along a highway

of pure gold-leaf uranium cobblestones

There’s no place like home.
There’s no place like home.


First appeared in Black Moon Magazine