~*~
deciduous
the bandana wasn’t working.
what began as strands
became clumps, each morning
a fall out she thought she could fix.
how vanity unravels hope.
first the message: three months left
the inability to breathe, to be still.
who will take care of my kids?
what the hell did I do wrong?
plans shorn clean, the wind begins.
the seasons change: six-week cycles
chemo, then rest; chemo, then rest.
she has no favorite battle scene.
yet, some small victory sprouts
from beneath the frost-licked earth.
she realizes: the absence of leaves
gives light to slender branches,
delicate bones she thought too weak
to brace her through relentless rain
of i.v. drips and hail of pills.
still – in the middle of night, she wakes:
lights a match to a handful of sage,
inhales sweet smoke to clear her head.
she understands loss coincides with all,
there are no woods to be out of.
~*~
Little One
little one,
somewhere you are four months old.
a girl, i think. kiana's little sister.
she would have given you hell,
diva that she is.
are you looking for treasures in the surf? smooth green glass your smile i want to curl around your small body rock you keep you from harm what good is this
are you safe? running giggling down the beach moonstones, your eyes
your big brothers would wrestle
over feeding you your first bottle.
kiana would dive on top of them,
snatch the bottle from their hands.
floating olivine slippage through the crevice sweet child of mine
forgive me my choice it wasn't the plan but now i sit in the rocking
chair dear god the thought of you asleep on my breast your tiny mouth fallen open in bliss
~*~