WHAT ADULTS SAY OR DO WHEN YOUR 12-YEAR-OLD HAS CANCER | Claire Weiner
From spring into summer into fall, all you can do
is walk in a straight line. Your secretary gets teary,
gives you a limp hug. The scout leader sends
you a sad-eyed emoji. The well-intended,
God-blessing neighbors bring you flowers
and cheesy casseroles, with sweet notes
reminding you to please return
their Williams Sonoma dish. Never do you
eat their food. Never do they think
their flowers need to be watered, as you watch
carnations and daisies droop and scatter onto
the dining room table, where no one has eaten for months.
The nurses will call you “Mom.”
You will protect this child
who you birthed, whose head is now
shiny as sea glass. You will remember
that the two of you played beauty shop
and braided her honey-colored hair. You tied
braids with big bows & small. You painted
her fingers & toes. And she painted yours
in the most shocking of pinks. And you will look up
and remember, she is not your only child.
Your firstborn is waiting patiently. And not only
waiting. He is also watching. Watching to see
what you’re really made of.
Because he too, is trying to find out what he’s
really made of when his baby sister, who he
hates, but also loves, is so sick he has to carry her down the stairs.
Claire Weiner was born in Chicago and raised in the Chicago suburbs. Except for a decade in Los Angeles, she has spent most of her adult life in Ann Arbor, Michigan. She spent her decades-long, non-writing career working as a psychotherapist, helping people make more sense of their life stories. She began writing in earnest when her children were grown. Her work has been published in After Hours Press, Burningwood Literary Review, Uppagus, Muddy River Poetry Review, Peninsula Poets, and others. Her chapbook, For a Chance to Walk on Streets of Gold, was published by Finishing Line Press in Spring 2024. She and her husband now split their time between Michigan and Arizona, grateful to be surrounded by natural beauty in both places.