You fought from the start:
two months early, at three pounds, you were the bigger twin.
Growing up you seemed so tough,
standing up to our three-year-old brother,
pulling his hair when he tried to take your toy,
holding your ground against the neighborhood bullies,
keeping your twin safe.

You’re still fighting, just a different bully now.
You who swam, biked, hiked, skateboarded,
drive a car that announces “handicapped,”
need a walker to go a block.
Your long blonde hair, lashes, and nails are gone.

You’re still fighting
but I can see what it takes out of you.
The cancer is everywhere.
Winning means keep fighting for as long as you can.