The Art of Dying
================

* Madeleine Openshaw

*   Cancer care

> I wear my hand-stitched cloak with pride
> 
> And finish the look with a pointy hat.
> 
> I hold my paintbrush like a wand
> 
> And brew potions to poison my cancer
> 
> And cast spells to banish sad thoughts.

> I mould clay and smooth it into shapes.
> 
> When the medicine failed me,
> 
> I made my own liver like a crescent moon
> 
> Infested with tumour
> 
> And smashed it to pieces with a hammer.

> When my cancer mocks me,
> 
> I spit metaphors and stories at it
> 
> And the pain subsides.

> And when the time comes,
> 
> I will use my cloak to keep me warm
> 
> And my paintbrush as a walking stick
> 
> To keep me upright
> 
> Until my last breath.

> And I will be buried in one of my clay pots
> 
> So that really, the only thing the cancer took
> 
> Was my body
> 
> And when that died, the cancer died too
> 
> The silly thing.

## Footnotes

*   Competing interests None.

*   Provenance and peer review Not commissioned; externally peer reviewed.