a handful of hair
the heft
of her illness

“Imagine hammers for hands. Or walking a mile to the bathroom. If you want to know the truth, that’s kind of how I feel today. Everything they put into me has a ‘tox’ in its name. So, you know it’s not rose water. . .Hey, you get through it. One foot in front of the other.”

After our visit, I walk the bike trail. No one seems to use the trail much in winter. Miles to myself. Woods on one side. Water on the other. Or, ice, I should say. Without the wind, the sun makes me feel like I could be on a beach somewhere, soaking up the tropical heat. But the wind kicks up just when I find a bench and sit to close my eyes.

nothing to offer I hold out my hands