Counting good like it mattered,
as the cosmos was observing,
making notes, recording score.
With neat floors, she deserved her compassion.
her fatigue-induced rest,
her little pleasures with enough suffering, always keeping the books in balance.
At fifty-three, then, cancer arrived.
And I saw her solve it:
What incorrect action did I perform?
Unpaid cosmic debt was what?
As though cells understood ethics.
As though tumors perused your résumé.
As though deserve was not the narrative at all
We advise to let choice define chaos.
Your blessings are not deserved.
Your scars are undeserving.
You simply understand them,
the haphazard spread of pleasure and damage,
the turning coins in the universe
your name on either sides.
The fairy story is deserve.
What you do with what you get,
That is the only narrative.
That was always yours to write.