My morning coffee warms my stiff hands
The treatment has left me battered.
Another vile seed could be burrowed in, growing waxy layers
blooming out from the bean on the mammogram to a grim flower on the MRI
I can’t feel the lumps for the scar tissue.

I swear that I am grateful for each day
I promise I know that I am lucky
I will try not to be caught up in the trickery of petty emotions
but I can’t feel the lumps for the scar tissue.