Embryo son, fetus daughter, wherever
you are in your path of orbit, hear
me: I am dying. My brain tumor
is bigger than you are. It is all
the stars together, packed into a snowball
searing bare hands. I could never
say this to your mother, that saintly
apparitional being I so unworthily
married, who hasn’t for a moment
doubted living to be old together,
but if I’m not standing there in my sky
blue gown as you fall headfirst
into the light of this world, it’s because
I passed you on my way out,
grazing your cheek with my blazing tail.
Cameron Morse taught and studied in China. Diagnosed with a brain tumor in 2014, he is currently a third-year MFA candidate at UMKC and lives with his wife, Lili, in Blue Springs, Missouri. His poems have been or will be published in over 50 different magazines, including New Letters, pamplemousse, Fourth & Sycamore, and TYPO. His first collection, Fall Risk, is forthcoming from Glass Lyre Press.