Leukemia as Dream/Ritual.
It is night in my room.
The woman beside me is dying.
A small girl stands at the foot of my bed.
She is crying, and carrying wine and a wafer.
Her name is the name I would have given the daughter I
would have liked to have had.
She grieves for herself, and not the woman.
She mourns the future and not the past.
She offers me her small communion.
I roll the wafer and wine on my tongue.
I accept my body.
I accept my blood.
Eat, she whispers, drink and eat.