some mark the passage of time with birthdays,
others with summer holidays or hogmanays.
for me, every year, such a marker is a letter
mentioning two colours – purple and orange.
the former points to the place where a smiling
technician catches the echoes from my chest.
in the latter, a physician with a sombre face
tries to figure out why i am asymptomatic
despite deteriorating images on his desk.
and it has been going on like that for years.
only now, it might be the last time. my heart
betrayed my poker face.
hidden pilcrow 