The In-between Days
37 years old, much too young
to face the dreaded divide
with nothing but naked fear
and wanton desire for the time
she had left to live, with little
thought of the Other Side—
absolute nullification of her
selfhood and vague rumors
passed on from generations of
desperate hope—and like a
fierce tornado of unlived dreams
she sucked the sweet marrow
out of life to satisfy her craving
for personal meaning, keeping
a memoir for posterity of the
in-between days of her vital
treatments: 137 soul-drenched
pages of precious living.
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