valentine's day

the doctor holds
up the x-rays
to the light,
puts his hand on
his chin and shakes
his head. i notice
that he has alot
of hair growing out
of his ears. and
that he cut himself
shaving this morning,
a piece of kleenex
is still stuck
to the slice on his
chin, black and
clotted. i quickly
decide not to trust
his diagnosis. it's
not good, he says.
i'm sorry. you have
less than a year to
live, maybe six
months, you'll make
it through christmas
though, and valentine's
day. valentine's day,
i repeat back to him.
what the hell are
you talking about.
who cares about
valentine's day?
aren't you in love,
don't you have someone
to share that holiday
with you? i feel
helpless in the paper
gown, sitting with my
bare feet dangling on
the leather examination
table. that's not the
point, i tell him.
valentine's day is not
some day to be marking
time with, the end
of my life with.
okay, okay, he says,
thinking to himself,
how about groundhog
day, you might not
make it to ground
hog day? is that
better? yes, i tell
him. thank you. that's
much much better.