My diagnosis. Mine. You hear it over
and over at the cancer center.
Funny this need to own it.

Mine came at me from nowhere.
One minute at the crowded office holiday party.
Secret Santa surprise.

The next alone in my cold kitchen,
playing back the message from the doctor:
“Call me at home. Anytime. Please!”

Doctors don’t give you their
Home phone number for no good reason.

The kitchen floor was hard. My high heels
Clicking nervously after I dialed and paced and paced.

The phone rang slowly. One dog threw herself
Down at my feet and snorted, expecting dinner.

And then I was curled on the couch,
Both dogs agitating around me, throwing their black,
sealskin bodies at me, bringing me back to life.