Chemo by Matthew Hamilton

A clump of hair like a dead caterpillar sticks to my fingers.
Coughing, headaches, vomiting blood. God created me
on the sixth day, but weeks pass before I see Him again,
sitting in a leather chair across from me reading the Bible.
I ask Him for a second opinion. He does not say a word,
but looks up at me and smiles. The warm waters of the Jordan
pump through my veins. Coded pills green and round fall
from my eyes. My hair grows strong like a field of olive trees.

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