Unfinished Cancer Hospital

My car weaves the corner on the way home from the hospital,

around the unfinished shell of the new cancer center.

Stairs unfinished ascend in the dark

but where those stairs are yet to climb,

I see her ascending

and then down to the room

to look.

what Mercury, what Michael will come unannounced,

to this temple?

23 weeks. I quit last month. he’s only 11.

what will blow out through that unopened window

on that unbuilt floor?

glioblastoma, osteosarcoma, we were hopeless, helpless,

cells thrown out harmless

into that sky full of stars

who are you, old woman?

She’s passed now; so am I.

But I wonder if it will ever be me?

Watching, waiting,

for some unwritten fate?

Blaine Eubanks, MS III

Class of 2008

3rd Place