over her child
to place a kiss
on sweet, dark hair;
sweaty with work
and thinking
her lips taste
the salty link
to past and future
mothers and daughters
right now,
this is everything;
and all she can attend to
not knowing
how many tomorrows,
if any, remain, she has no time
for pleasant exchange;
conversation meaningless,
vague, and vapid
no words big enough
to explain the way she feels
impatient fear eats at her
like the poison within -
that arrived suddenly
like winter darkness,
in spite of taking care,
being thoughtful,
healthy and whole
hundreds of pink ribbons
strangle her, like tiny ropes
tightening about her heart
bitterly aware,
her mantra repeats,
endless and uncontrolled
cut it out, cut it off
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