Warriors Wear Pink

Eyes coral from crying
all night at the prospect
of more nausea, heartburn,
puking and a plethora of pain.
Hair gone and so fucking
tired wondering whether  
it's even worth the trouble
to fight day in and day out
but once the alarm crows
she still dons her Joan
of Arc armor and drives
twenty minutes to the clinic.

Wishing the car would carry her
precious little body to a beach
miles away where she could rest
sore muscles on warm sands ,
but even when reality rushes
back in , a heart raised right
musters up the strength to smile
at everyone from the kid sweeping
up cigarette butts in the parking
lot to an old man in a walker
bitching about the weather
to the lukewarm receptionist.

A waiting room pleasant enough
with paintings of Parisian streets,
but tears of fear well up again
once the nurse untangles
the tubing and hooks up
the I/V to her arms. Pulling
some tissues from her smock
the nurse dabs the patient's
cheeks whispering , "don't worry ,
honey, more than ever God needs
angels with a luster of love
like yours right here on earth."