Published 'not dead but dreaming' 1996
She had been through the hoop time
and time again, what with a series of
life-threatening illnesses, together
with more than her fair share of bereave-
ments, accidents and shattered romances.
Yet she made light of them. Her
heart didn't sink. Her mascara did not
run. Everything, good and ill, was part
of life's rich and varied tapestry.
So, here she was--simply sick again.
In her delirium, she recalled an
occasion many years before as a small
girl. She was skipping rope with the
other kids, well past the time when
twilight had given up its ghost to the
moon. Indeed, the street-lamps did
little to disperse the enroaching
A tall man appeared at the entrance to
the cul de sac--swinging his own skipping-
rope in time with the children's.
She shuddered, remembering that time.
Today, she is in the process of suffering
her last illness, but she does not realize
how final it is.
Simply from past experience, she
fully expected there to be other ill-
nesses, other diseases queuing up to
infect her--like romances.
The sickroom door swings open and a
tall darkness stands silhouetted in its
frame; the tall darkness swings things
that look like tubes--in time with her
heart. A heart that skips a beat...
And later she might have wondered if
she were about to fall in love--yet one
more heavy romance--until the last saving
stitch dropped, making the embroidery of
life's tapestry run like painted tears.