At the Ku Cancer Center

At the Ku Cancer Center
Cameron Morse

In waiting room, where I pilgrimage myself,
to be weighed and blood-pressure
cuffed, Pulse-Oxed and body-temped
once every four months, Lili nudges
my arm and points to her belly
without a word, as though he were listening

and might stop if he heard us. In the exam room,
she sits on table paper while the nurse
of my oncologist tells me to follow
her finger with my eyes, her finger drawing
invisible lines of a star, or the sign
of the cross. Her hands waggle right and then left,

left and then right, to test my peripheral
vision. Feeling new strength
in my palsied arm, I wrap my hand
around her fingers and pull, pull, pull her
toward me. Push, push, push her away.

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