Well, this is called Sorrows.
I've had a lot of losses in my life.
I had cancer four times.
I once had two cancers at the same time,
and they were not a metastasis.
Only I would do that.
They think they're hot stuff, metastasis stuff.
And I had two primary cancers, one breast cancer
and one renal cancer.
And the renal cancer came after I had a kidney transplant.
I was on dialysis for a year, which
I hated more than anything.
And I thought that they took the bad kidney out or the one that
wasn't functioning well.
But they don't, they just put another one in there
on top of that one.
And the one-- that seems to me kind of--
and they leave the other one there,
and that one developed cancer, renal cancer.
And I was kind of tired of them.
Anyway, I had that, and I have lost two of my children.
I had six children.
I have four living children.
My husband, my parents, my sister, lots of people.
So I know something about loss.
And I know the best thing I can do for them
is to continue to live.
Anyway, this is called Sorrows.
Who would believe them when we need?
Who would believe they could be beautiful?
Who would believe they could fall so in love
with mortals that they would attach themselves as scars
attach and ride the skin?
Sometimes, we hear them in our dreams, rattling their skulls,
clicking their bony fingers.
They have heard me beseeching as I whispered
into my own cupped hands.
Enough, not me again.
Enough.
But how can they distinguish one human voice
amid such choruses of desire?
I still have Eastern time, so I have to look at it,
and then I have to count back.
It's so hard for me.
I've often thought.