Bryant Literary Review

Article Title

Dear Breast Cancer,


Clara Burghelea


You smell of clean skin, cent-free armpits, choked-up, hard to swallow nausea, bubble gum flavor in the hair from the 11-year-old in the car. You see we drove 200 miles, woke up at wee hours to ditch traffic, had breakfast in the car, cold waffles, gulped on bad coffee, rode the highway on TikTok noise, before I knew it, I had arms around my shoulders, chewing gum love next to my right ear.