Tell me about the time
you watched your extended flesh
a candy-chocolate
headstrong
feisty beauty
diminishing
being eaten
from the inside out
yet still fighting
as the tips of your fingers
glided thru her curly white hair
you held her hand with your other
and she opened her eyes
from her weakened slumber
and you said, "I love you, Mommy.
Thank you for staying for 50 years,"
and she said, just above a whisper,
but with the clarity and sweetness
of a morning birdsong,
"Thank YOU for staying for 50 years.
I love you too. You my baby."
Tell me about that time.
You can't.
But I can.
And I'm eternally grateful.
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