It started with a lingering pain.
X-rays were taken,
fluid found in her lungs.
“It’s cancer,” Mother told me.
She started chemotherapy, couldn’t keep anything down,
grew thin, emaciated,
spent a week in the hospital.
Dad cared for her at home.
Although they’d been divorced for years,
he abandoned his house and dog,
moved in with her and her cats,
drove her to and from chemotherapy.
Six months later, she received a good prognosis,
thought she would live,
but a week later, she was gone.
This poem was published in Voxpoetica.