There is no road map
That suggests to turn left at cancer
And right on chemotherapy street.
It doesn’t remind you to wear gloves
Or to hold off on that beverage until after
Ten o’clock
Because that marks the twelve hour mark.
And you can’t be too drunk
When handling medication that can absorb through your skin
But is safe enough to give to him.
There is no road map to canceling plans,
Forgetting plans,
Or coming home early because there was a bad day.
There is no road map to trying to foster new relationships
Because those feelings you felt
Were just under fingertips
And now they’re somewhere under a needle
While you wait
For hope
For treatment
For anything other than what’s happening here.
For anything other than what is happening here.