The Bosom-Serpent

I note your ease
at blind man’s bluff
arm-length away
beyond the touch
old friend, oh un-
inoculum.

You miss the game,
the entrail twists,
the sport of blood
cells pithed and plied
with amygdalin
and cyanide.

What can you do
but stay away,
avoid the need
to feel too deep
the ease of your
uneasiness.

Your absence strikes
like serpent bite
writhed in darkness,
dead of night
drawn to the warmth
of my injured life.

C. R. Resetarits worked for several years in psychiatric social work where patients’ narratives lead her to writing poetry and fiction. This poem is an outgrowth of that history, as well as her own experiences with breast cancer.