At precisely noon
a small crowd gathers to celebrate
Mom’s chemo graduation.
The nurses throw neon-colored confetti.
The patients clap the sides of their chairs.
Mom hugs Dad, then me. She looked at the cowbell
perched beside the coffee station.
In her six months of three weeks on, one week off,
only one other patient has rung the bell.
That young woman touched the copper bell timidly,
she made that cowbell sing.