Contributor: Theresa A. Cancro

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Your hands lift me out of the banks
of rusted transepts that fell long ago.

You try to revive my eviscerated spirit,
no mouth to mouth, just fingertips.

You pencil in our names together,
at once imagined yet not quite inked.

You trace my eyebrow, absent tears;
no longer innocent, we bear the drench.

You close in on the monster illness,
stare it out, but know it will win.

Your warm embrace perfumes my corner,
a lotus in bloom at the midnight hour.


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Theresa A. Cancro (Wilmington, Delaware) writes poetry and fiction. Many of her poems have appeared in online and print publications and anthologies internationally. She also enjoys music, dance and gardening, as time permits.