A Note on the Art in the Oncologist’s Office

Signed and numbered, the first of three prints depicts a fleet of five with

bristling masts and winches, working boats, beneath a dull sky that bears

a blue like the bruise in the bend of my father’s elbow after the final stick

of the day.

~

In the next, wind-driven water bounces the hulls, darkening to olive like

the fading welt on his cheek. The falls in the night come more frequently

now, a side effect of morphine and lorazepam.

~

The third print marks the storm’s boundary at the door to the chemo suite

with its oxblood loungers and minifridges cooling bottles of Ensure.

In this one, white-capped waves are steely and one boat pushes away.

My father is anxious. We have arrived early. We wait.

~

In the exam room, above the shelved gowns and blood pressure cuffs,

a watercolor: wading birds of no true taxonomic order, a flock of three,

where, as if on the threshold of some fretful air, one bird arches

its broad wings and long neck, half-risen, half-gone.