I
have been sleeping for days. I am waking from dreams I cannot remember, experiencing
fainting spells when I stand from that leveled position and all the while
I still have the hope that today will give me something good to chase. I fantasize
about the future, three months from this point, and I try to imagine a day
when I won’t have to think about the stale flavor of dusk in my mouth.
My diet is always the same and I am pleased. At least I can eat. At night
my dog Lucy lays by my side sighing with deep anxiety and I wonder if she
can smell the chemicals leaking from my skin. They say dogs can sniff and
point to the cancer in humans. So I wonder what she smells as her pale and
aging eyes look into mine. We stared at each other this morning, our heads
side by side on the pillow, and I wish I could ask her what she smelled months
ago – the cancer digging deep into my breast. Did you smell it then?
Is that why you look at me with such knowledge, a psychic of profound talents
as you huff through your nose, your jowels drooping with anguish as we stare
into the mirror of the other’s soul, sniffing out the devil better than
any chemical could?
