DEATH Poem: Ashley, by Jenna Gee

It wasn’t until months after we met
that I noticed the semicolon on your wrist.
It wasn’t that I didn’t pay attention,
but your spunky, energetic personality
lit up every room,
and paying attention to anything else felt mundane.

The semicolon has become a period.
Too soon, and not for the reason that you got the tattoo in the first place.
Your kids, both in middle school,
too young to be left behind.

You were one of the good ones.
To know you was to love you.
You did not deserve this.
But cancer doesn’t care,
and if god exists, he evidently doesn’t care either.
Because of all people to take from this world,
it shouldn’t have been you.

You posted about working,
you were supposed to start treatment today.
Today, they were going to get rid of the cancer,
but they would’ve been 7 hours too late.

Seven. Fucking. Hours. Ago.

I don’t understand how you can go from smiling,
laughing,
being your spunky self,
to not being here at all 12 hours later.