Veins

Tracing the veins on the back of my hand You become lost, wanting to locate the right highway to home. Your finger, pointing to main roads winding under my skin that connect heart to fingertips. Envious of the well defined paths, you retreat. Inside that vacant look, thoughts of some other place, more likely flashes of cancer battles having left your veins hiding, hoping no more needles will prick your skin, to move under the surface looking for a vein that won't blow out, but will carry more chemotherapy to spots where wicked cells hide and multiply, metropolis to nowhere. Suddenly, returning from your reverie, your finger follows my veins to the tip of my thumb nail roaming back and forth along the edge, feeling for something familiar, or sharpening a blade that will cut the cord of cancer so you can return home, your veins visibly leading the way to a joyous heart.