she sinks slowly into
her bed of
cancer, ignoring
the pain that is-
looking only at the delicate
feathers wedged
in her organs for protection
white silken plumes
translucent shaft pushing
into tissue
whatever was, isn't now
every day is new
so she can listen
to wind and song
float on the breeze
make dinner for her daughter
even if she has to sit
cutting board on the floor
to chop the vegetables
she knows that now
that's what to do
9 comments:
Beautiful, Holly. Really beautiful.
here's to all women! i have seen this trait, time and time again
yes, this is for a dear, dear friend
It's for Lydia? It's nice.
The image of the cutting board on the floor is amazing. This is an incredible poem.
Very soft sound here, an understated, quiet beauty.
I agree with Nathan,that cutting board image is very clear and poignant.
It's actually for Lydia's mother...I didn't know how to phrase that line I had with Lydia's name in it, so I took it out.
Thank you Rethabile, Nathan, and Christine. The cutting board thing is something she has actually done, if that tells you anything about this woman.
This is so nice and brings tears to my eyes. I love the cutting board, too. It makes me think of my grandmother. I also agree with Christine about the quiet beauty. That's the perfect way to describe that lovely quiet voice. Awesome poem, Holly! Oh...and Scot gets big brownie points this week for his comment:)
I agree Julie, Scot totally gets brownie points...thanks for your lovely comment too.
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