Margaret Walther
Yellow Snow
. . . For Connie Waltz

what I remember most—
your car stopped at crossroads, my son outside, pissing in snow
you laughing, I embarrassed, forgot the pee can

the choices we make—
I, divorced, with a child, minimum wage job
you off to Turkey to finish PhD, island church, ancient mosaic

Christ, how I envied you—
the coins you brought back, the shape, the feel, the shine of them

                 and now, the choice you didn’t make—
pain, race to the hospital, ovaries flinging out seeds like a salt shaker

what is obscene—
your body, the onslaught again and again
surgery, chemo, chemo, chemo, not long now, your sister wrote

thirty years ago—
people driving by, gawking, my son flinging out piss as far as he can
jeez, Margaret, you say, no big deal—