Christmas 1992

They told me you were sick
before our visit that Christmas.
You answered the door, your head
shimmering like the gold ornaments
hidden in your tree’s inner branches. The forest
of your hair had been suddenly bulldozed,
and one lone, proud hair stood erect
clinging to life.
When you stooped down to hug me, my heart
dropped out of my eyes, sharp pin pricks beating.