When rot is found
inside the softness of someone
I love, I only think
of making trades. As if
cancer must exist
somewhere, so wishing it
out of a friend means
wishing it into someone else—
like flicking a bee off a sleeve,
and choosing a stranger to sting.
I could just wish
the bee back to a hollyhock’s
anthers, wish the cancer
out into the ether.
Wish away betrayals of bodies—
the turning of themselves
on themselves, their frailty
and failure. Wish bees, even,
survived stinging defense
of their small selves.
But I’m left here
in a vinyl waiting-room chair
wishing the tumor nestled
within my friend’s left breast
could teleport into, say,
that woman in the gray
trousers. I am sorry, but
Wouldn’t we all do it?
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 26, Issue 3.
Ohio born and raised, Kerry Trautman’s work has appeared in numerous journals and anthologies. Her books are Things That Come in Boxes (King Craft Press 2012,) To Have Hoped (Finishing Line Press 2015), Artifacts (Nightballet Press 2017), To be Nonchalantly Alive (Kelsey Books 2020), Marilyn: Self-Portrait, Oil on Canvas (Gutter Snob Books 2022), Unknowable Things (Roadside Press 2023), and Irregulars (Stanchion Books 2023).
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