—for my mother



I remember when you
had cancer. It struck
me odd that

strength could have a flaw. I was broken.
As your lips explained, painting
my ears with fear,

I wished for a pain & shadow trade;
you could instead see clear,
& your disease could

become my new reflection. That day
never ended: I still think
of & dream shifting

pictures of the breath that exhaled our
reality differently. I recall
my prayers were a hybrid

of anger & faith. Living
on knees beside my
bed, praying

that a heal could slip inside your skin. Sleep
absented me. My eyes, red
like the blood

that would spill if you left: specific:
cut my name from existence’s
breath. Your are

the life that birthed my world. Five
years, in August. You made
survival the color

of your new eyes. I see you now
& I smile that softly
you stand with more

beauty than a landscape of bloom. The circle
of your being, like the ring
dad adorned

your finger with. Now I realize strength
can be imperfect. Yet in that
grasp, I am thankful

for your continuous steps. Pain avoided me like
your death. I am allowed now to embrace
what is perfect: your smile.