I am December

I am December

the colder, darker days, woolly

jumper with sleeves to my fingertips,

breath frosting the air. Central heating

smell, oranges, cinnamon, evening filled

with burning embers, I am December.

 

I am days off

laptops off, lights off, cake out, candles on,

please, no song, everyone in the kitchen

to celebrate me. Cards, texts, bath sets,

colourful crumpled paper, an intermingling

with a merry agenda, I am December.

 

I am a catch

in the belly, a soaring in the throat,

a bubbling behind the eyes, a pleasant,

gentle jolt, a rubber ball bouncing and rolling

at the sight of lights strewn overhead, a feeling

that spreads in my centre, I am December.

Letters

 

All year I have had the sense of

doom, the feeling of forthcoming

panic rising in my belly

rising through the months

as they go by without

a let-up of the shadows

this year has sent but I still

didn’t fully see it coming

the letters now stacking up

I wouldn’t have imagined them

sitting on the armchair

their white bellies huffing

in the breeze of the fan

circulating summer air

waiting for me to order them

into coherence but most days I am

too afraid to touch them

else they may multiply

the way the cells in my bowel

and my womb

continue to multiply

as they have been, silently

for months with not yet

any intervention.

Bio:
Sam Rose is a writer from Northamptonshire and the editor of Peeking Cat Poetry Magazine. She is a three times cancer survivor and a PhD student, researching the role of poetry in psycho-oncology. She has had poetry, fiction and creative non-fiction published in several venues. Find her at https://www.writersam.co.uk and on Twitter @writersamr.

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