My sister died Monday. Just last week this vibrant woman told me she had Stage 4 lung cancer and she wasn't going to do chemo. Too little reward for too much misery. And then she surprised us by up and dying three days later. I found this poem in my archives.
The Accidental Coffin Maker
The north woods whiskey-swilling
carpenter builds wicked good cabinets
when not nursing a grudge
or in the thick of a bar-provoked fight
over some perceived slight.
His neighbor wedded to a woman
with cancer looks beyond the bluster.
Commissions a handcrafted box, cross
planed on the lid, sized to fit on a dresser,
contain a bag of ashes.
Somehow, word will leek out,
and woe to the local who snickers.
Marilyn Ascoff Mellor
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