Signs of Life

Some mornings it all feels faked
Or a clerical mistake.

You can’t really be dying.
You’re not consumed by cancer.

Ok, you haven’t been well
For a while, for quite a while.

But here you are, a month past
The latest diagnosis,

The tea leaves that landed you
Back home for palliative care,

And you seem no worse than then,
Possibly better even,

And today you spent outside,
Or partly outside at least,

In a world full of omens
And stray animal totems—

The mouse that the cat dragged in,
That escaped into the works

Of kitchen appliances,
The gopher snake that slithered

Over your neighbor’s bare toes
While he pushed you in your chair

Around his thriving garden,
The fox that ran through the yard,

The mule doe browsing the roof
Of another neighbor’s shed—

See? It’s the middle of life,
Life’s usual oddities,

And here you are, taking notes
On it all, since you’re alive,

An omen unto yourself—
How dare you claim you’re dying?