"Sorry Andy, things not going well, It's developing into bone cancer, biopsy 2nd January."
"Gutted. So much to organize now as I won't have surgery. Enough is enough."
“Sorry for the bad news, but need herbs more than ever xxx”
I'm not the man behind a strong woman,
I'm just here,
It's the last ever eleven minutes past eleven, and the last ever seconds are framed by Frida Kahlo.
She stares at me accusingly, Like I could have done more,
"Are you okay?" Kirsty says.
We talked about this on so many bus rides,
But I'm not okay,
"I'm okay," I say. " Are you okay?"
"No."
"I wanted to go on an aeroplane again,"
"I wanted to go back to Dalwhinnie,"
"I wanted to see Ayr again,"
I get off my armchair under one of her pictures of Frida Kahlo,
And I go to sit near her and put my hand on her,
"I'm pretty sure that there's a God," I say,
I remember trying to give my Nana the same certainty,
We were watching a black and white movie called 'The Secret Agent,' and she said: "Nothing really happens, does it?"
"One day we're here, and one day we're gone, And everything just carries on,"
Now Kirsty is presuming the same kind of spiritual apathy, But I'm pretty sure I'm not wrong,
"I've got moonlight in my mind," She suddenly says,
"I just saw it. It was beautiful.
Where's it gone now?"
I saw the same flicker of headlights too, But I don't tell her what it was.
"Don't worry," I say, "it'll come again,"
"Are you okay?"
I'm joining her on her mat by the apartment's electric storage heater, There are cats around us looking at me just as accusingly as her pictures of Frida Kahlo. I hope my touching her doesn't hurt her, But I feel like I have to.
I think humans are supposed to hug.
"My cats!" Kirsty says, suddenly bursting back to life. "Who's going to look after my cats?"
I can't, but I can lie. "I'll try," I say, feeling sixteen feline eyes become those of Frida Kahlo,
"Are you okay?"
We're cuddling now, like people do when they love each other, Kirsty's head is touching mine, and all her withered bony pokey bits are lodged in my chest, as my arms hold her and we await the awful morning.
"You're a good friend," she says.
There are stars outside. There are always stars outside, Even when you can't see them.
I think I hurt as much as her,
We have no one together, All we have is a polite wish that we can't say, That we could both be anywhere but here, with other people, But we're not, We're just here, Something like together,
Waiting until the community nurse comes.