We get used to trash along the road
or don’t even have to get used to it
but then some kids put their beer cans
on the tips of small trees trying to come up.
Little star. Now I know the cancer
is in my body and always will be.
Still, we can convince ourselves
of anything. When Bea wants to play,
that’s what I do. She gets under the covers
and pretends to be part of my body.
We tell her daddy she’s gone,
but she’s right there. I say
this is just me.
Copyright © 2022 by Elizabeth Barnett. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on August 16, 2022, by the Academy of American Poets.