One of my friends is wrestling a persistent cancer. I’ve been along the edges for a few years.
Visiting him the other day, I realized how time moves more slowly for certain people. How some people wait more. He told me that his life will be ongoing trips to chemo, then (hopefully) breaks in the chemo.
24 hours passed. I kept busy with a lot of things, and read the poem below. Something about it struck me hard. The stopping to meet whatever’s coming, and the way illness fits into each of our journeys these days, whether we’re on the train, or watching it.
Tomas Tranströmer
Tracks
2 am: moonlight. The train has stopped
out in the middle of the plain. Far away, points of light in a town,
flickering coldly at the horizon.
