Before she wants to leave, life goes.
She dies a shrinking death.
Alone, asleep, no one comes close.
A tube gives her last breath.

One more walk, more vitamins, more pain
and she’d be here still— alive.
But every healthy act in vain.
Her wish: do not revive.

A quiet explosion scorched her cells.
Dividing tumor, too fast.
Her lips like broken shells
and face a sunken mask.

Hair gone and shivering in the sun
her skin as smooth as stone
she said, “Though chemo was fun,
I’m ready to be gone.”

Her lover on a plastic chair,
his hand strokes paper skin.
He’d fight to death if he could scare
the tumor from within.

One more walk, more vitamins, more pain
and she’d be here still— alive.
But every healthy act in vain.
Her wish: do not revive.

– Cara Schiff