The Volley

She is translucent, undaunted in her courage to spike the ball of conversation one more time She cannot ignore what she knows, but moves forward anyway. Nearly six feet tall, she is grounded by the reality of her own disease. “Not yet,” she cries, “I am not ready for the fall” and takes one more chance And winning the game herself She does not know the meaning of the word “teammate” In her desire to score, For there is only one moment left Which is now, nonetheless What battle can she ferry through The sand burning her skin as she goes. Awkward, alive, ambitious No sickness can stop her drive Everyone knows but her She fights to stay illumined What essence is it then, this game of reality? “Spike” she screams into a silenced victory Watching the conversation lull Does everyone have to know the truth? To her, it is nothing but the moment Later, in dreams, she will remember What it was like to die