Your Tumor Thanks You
The tooth of your malignancy is asking for some sweetness. It purrs, Sugar your coffee, love. Feed me some cake. It needs insulin to grow, and so it sits at your dining table, a clean white napkin tied around its neck. The lesion eats slowly. You want to send it home because it's getting late. But that would be rude. Instead, you dip your sugar spoon into your grandmother's old dish and offer it seconds. In another room, your family eats the sour flesh of unripe fruit from plastic bowls.