by Solee Cheon
I overhear a familiar line. A scene told in two parts.
“It’s cancer.”
Where is the linearity. I am told that I am only dust and only temporal.
“How much time do I have left?”
Questions which arise from every corner of a mouth. Did you see her eyebrows touch together. Statements and questions sometimes vary only by a tone.
Pause here.
The treadmill slows down enough for me to get off.
“I don’t know what to do from now on.”
Round eyes glance around for a reprieve, but this is a land of sharp pixels only.
“We’ll figure something out.”
Words that placate no one but the sayer. I remember a sharp feeling and follow that red line.
“ja ki yah.”
A mating call. Let it go to voicemail. Caller ID reads unknown.
“Are you afraid?”
I guess that’s how I feel about foreign substances. Fear smells like something expired, curdled. Tastes strange too. Here - I call on an ancestor. Milkmaid of mars. A white curl of anger.
“What do we do?”
A bird flies by. Talks strong and mighty. Chirp, Chirp, Chirp. The spring breeze weaves in and out and in-between.
“I don’t have an answer for you.”
Solee Cheon is a third-year medical student at the UTCOMLS.
