Eight years have passed since
I accomplished my dream of living
in the front row at the beach.
My brother told me he’d rather
have some distance from the ocean
over fear of a tidal wave.
“I want a good head start,” he said.
That fear transferred to me for a second.
“A Tsunami? With Catalina blocking the way…”
I promised myself a treat, a full year of waking
to crashing waves, ocean air, and daily sunsets.
My windows frame the Pacific Ocean.
Schools of dolphins and diving birds are common practice,
and it never gets old.
I’m still here, literally.
Why did it take a brutal fight with cancer
to finally treat myself?
I’m not going anywhere for a while.
Ten-plus years in remission and
eight years in the front row.
I’m so lucky.