Halfway Through

Forty-eight inches,

a decade of growth,

curled into fetal comfort,

seeks the safety

of mother’s womb.


Smooth tender scalp

rests on her shoulder,

arms encircle her neck.

Cuddle toys can’t

fill his need

for security.


Radiation’s brand marks

the tomb of the enemy,

robber of joy, peace and play.

Plastic tubes pump

poison into his chest.


Dad is big and strong,

Mom, warm and wise,

but sarcoma sucks;

that’s just the way it is.


The Wisdom of Miss Lydia

Miss Lydia is very, very smart. I know, ’cause she told me so.

Her wisdom you won’t want to ignore, even though she’s only four.

Don’t swallow the black watermelon seeds she said. It’ll take the smarts from your head.

If her advice you do not heed, your energy too will lose it’s speed.

“Where did you learn this?,” I asked in amazement.

She pondered before giving reply, ‘I just knowed it.’

Published in: on May 22, 2009 at 9:27 pm  Leave a Comment  
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