When my kids were little
And climbed in my bed
Complaining of a headache
Or a stomach ache
I would wrap my arms around
The problem
And just about the time
They were cured
And drifting off to sleep
I would feel it.

I have had a few successes
In my life
The way I understand success
anyway.

My mother obsessed herself
With breast cancer
Until she finally had it
Then looked to me
To take it away.

I think she would trade
My life for her own.

it isn't my place
To choose.

I wonder though
At the eternal admonition
"Physician, heal thyself"

My pain
Is still very present.