There’s a Plan
For now, there’s a plan and it’s spring again. You’re not dying,
the oncologist says on the phone. Outside, the Carolina wren
has returned to the back porch, scouting for a nest. Not from this.
Not yet. Last year’s hatchling fell from the safety of the planter
onto the brick ledge and then the concrete patio. The parents,
shrieking, guided it into a shadowy part of the backyard.
In the radiation clinic, white tissue covering the patient’s chair,
I sit in the one for family. I’ve been through this before.
I don’t need anyone to hold my hand. Chances are
you may not have side effects, the doctor says
through her mask, her white coat revealing a smart
green dress, a life outside the room.
About the Author: Celeste Budwit-Hunter (she, her) survived a rare cancer thanks to an unrelated donor. With bachelor’s and master’s degrees in psychology, she currently works as an editor at Johnson Space Center. Her writing has appeared in The Ekphrastic Review, Equinox/hotpoet, Synkroniciti, and Sudden Flash, among others.
Image Credit: John James Audubon “Great Carolina Wren” (1827–1838) Public domain image courtesy of the Biodiversity Heritage Library
As It Ought To Be 