Lullabye, post-diagnosis

I spend the night

(frightening phrase)

rhyming cancer

with

answer.

Abby Considers April Snowfall

Some child in the sky must be dumping it out, shaking powder white
from the open canister, coating the meadow in a confectioner's glaze.

Where it sets: pastures, gardens, sugar & starch.
Where it candies: trellises, windchimes, treebuds.
After a month's spring thaw, I stick out my tongue,
taste the flakes as they fall.
Frost me, sweeten me up,
with winter's bright knife; crystalize me, beguile me
in your audacious play.

(Composed upon waking to an April snowfall, and having Barbara Crooker's Tu Wi's Considers April Sunlight come ironically to mind. Her version reads thus:

Some cook in the sky must be ladling it out, pouring liquid gold
from her copper saucepan, basting the meadows in hollandaise.

Where it drips: buttercups, dandelions, butter & eggs.
Where it splashes: forsythia, daffodils, tulips.
After a long hard winter, I reach out my arms,
lift my face to the sky.
Fry me, sunnyside up,
on springtime's hot griddle; clarify me, anoint me
in your lavish lemon light.)