“Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

This isn’t the first time she’s asked. 
Beats me why she celebrates her cancer. 
She stands at the mirror, admires her thinness. 
She calls it “making lemonade.” 

Beats me why she celebrates cancer. 
If anyone can, it’s my sister. 
She calls it “making lemonade.” 
I call it deliberate blindness. 

If anyone celebrates, it’s my sister. 
When she parties she’s always all in. 
I call it obfuscation. 
Still, I admire her pluck. 

When she parties she’s always all in. 
She stands at the mirror, celebrates her thinness. 
I admire her pluck. 
This isn’t the first time she’s asked. 

My Sister’s Finally Thin Enough—

At last she’s the waif she longed to be. 
She celebrates losing 20 pounds. 
“Cancer’s not a weight loss scheme,” I warn. 
“Really?” She shrugs. “What have I got to lose?” 

She celebrates losing 20 pounds. 
My once curvaceous sister, skeletal. 
She shrugs. “What have I got to lose?” 
She laughs like she’s going to live forever. 

My once curvaceous sister, skeletal. 
“I’m making lemonade,” she explains. 
She laughs like she’s going to live forever. 
I hope she makes it another year. 

“I’m making lemonade,” she explains. 
“Cancer’s not a weight loss scheme,” I say. 
I hope she makes it another year. 
At least she’s the waif she longed to be. 

Terminal: My Sister’s Diagnosis

She thinks she’s getting out of there alive. 
But the cancer has spread to her lungs. 
A malignant tumor strangles her spine. 
The size of a grapefruit, her oncologist says. 

The cancer has spread to her bones. 
She’s screaming in pain; they do nothing. 
The size of a grapefruit, her oncologist says. 
No narcotics. “She might become addicted.” 

She’s screaming in pain; they do nothing. 
My sister is dying in a 3rd-rate hospital in Atlanta. 
No narcotics. “She might become addicted.” 
Neurologist confirms: Dementia. Gives her a month. 

My sister is dying in a 3rd-rate hospital in Atlanta. 
A malignant tumor strangles her spine. 
Neurologist confirms: Dementia. Gives her a month. 
She thinks she’s getting out of there alive. 

My Sister Languishes (Smile)

My sister does not want to be there. 
Her eyes glaze over, sightless. 
I don’t know if she knows me. 
She tosses in confusion. 

Her eyes glaze over, weary. 
My sister’s so tired of fighting. 
She tosses in confusion. 
Then she hears my voice, and smiles. 

She’s so tired of fighting. 
“Show us your pearly whites.” 
My sister hears her daughter’s voice. 
She tries but she can’t quite smile. 

“Show us your pearly whites.” 
I ask, “Do you even know me?” 
She tries but she can’t smile. 
She doesn’t want to be there. 

When We FaceTime My Sister Comes Back to Life

She looks beautiful, defiant. 
A pillow cradles her head, 
her long, curly hair a halo, 
a touch of mania in her gaze. 

A pillow cradles her head. 
She looks up, smiles for the camera. 
There’s a touch of mania in her gaze. 
I want to believe she’ll survive. 

She looks up, smiles for the camera. 
“I’ll beat this cancer,” she says. 
I want to believe she’ll survive. 
“Yes,” I lie. “Of course you will.” 

“I’ll beat this cancer,” she tells me, 
her long, curly hair a halo. 
“Yes,” I lie. “Of course you will.” 
She looks beautiful, defiant. Alive. 

Photograph of her sister copyrighted © by
Alexis Rhone Fancher. All rights reserved.

Alexis Rhone Fancher

is the author of 11 books, most recently Triggered: A Pillow Book (MacQ, 2023), an erotic chapbook collaboration with artist Kenna Barradell and editor Clare MacQueen; BRAZEN, a full-length erotic collection (NYQ Books, 2023); DUETS (Harbor Editions, 2022), an illustrated, ekphrastic chapbook collaboration with poet Cynthia Atkins; and Stiletto Killer (in Italian) from Edizioni Ensemble, Italia (May 2022).

Other books include EROTIC: New & Selected (NYQ Books, 2021); Junkie Wife (Moon Tide Press, 2018); and three books from KYSO Flash Press: a full-length collection of poems, Enter Here> (2017), and The Dead Kid Poems (2019), a companion chapbook to State of Grace: The Joshua Elegies (2015).

Rhone Fancher’s poem “when I turned fourteen, my mother’s sister took me to lunch and said:” was chosen by Edward Hirsch for inclusion in The Best American Poetry (2016). Her poems and flash fiction have been published in 200+ literary magazines and journals, including Aeolian Harp, Askew, Cleaver, Diode, Duende, Gargoyle, Glass, Hobart, Nashville Review, Pedestal Magazine, Petrichor, Plume, Poetry East, Rattle, Slipstream, South Florida Poetry Journal (SoFloPoJo), Spillway, SWWIM, The American Journal of Poetry, The MacGuffin, The night heron barks, Tinderbox, Verdad, Verse Daily, Vox Populi, Wide Awake: Poets of Los Angeles, and elsewhere.

You can find photographs by Alexis on the covers of Witness, Pithead Chapel, Pedestal Magazine, Heyday, and elsewhere, as well as a five-page spread in River Styx. Her street photography is published worldwide.

Since 2013, her work has been nominated numerous times for the Pushcart Prize, and multiple times for these annual anthology awards: Best Small Fictions, Best Microfiction, and Best of the Net. In 2018, her prose poem “Cruel Choices” won The Pangolin Poetry Prize.

Until summer 2023, Alexis and her husband were living and collaborating on the bluffs of San Pedro, California, 25 miles from downtown L.A. They’re now settled in the Mojave Desert a hundred miles east, and they still have a spectacular view.

www.alexisrhonefancher.com

www.alexisrhonefancher.com/audio/