The first spot on the lung
just stays there
like a comma
in a ransom note
that threatens.
And on the second lung
some others grow, though
we're not sure why.
my mother's health can't take
a surgery or biopsy
so there's no science
to learn from,
no other beds to garden.
the only recourse
i suppose
is for her to take her life
and enjoy the moments
she has left
and eat and drink
and laugh and cry
and touch those that mean
something to her
on the shoulder or arm
maybe kiss a cheek
here or there, steal an embrace
at the last second
when it's least expected
and just be present
in the moment
until the sun
goes down that
one last time
and the breath refuses
to come. Not bad
advice for all of us
at any time, I suppose,
but even truer now.
For her.
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