Sitting at her feet
Folding chair angled
So I can hold her feet,
One at a time,
I find the old worn places:
Liver, spleen, colon
To apply pressure.

"Does that hurt?"
After she winces just a bit.

"A little," from pressed lips,
Eyes closed, she sighs.

The cancer showed up seven months ago;
Liver picked its tumor from the colon,
Grew a ball of poison.

Feisty would be too harsh a word
For this stubborn soul so
Obstinate, forceful, unrepentant....

Seeing her in such a helpless state,
Belly distended with cancer's bloat,
Puke cup nearby, and pain distorting.
Mind here and there, present and past,
Brings tears to us who have fought her,
Trying her and tried by her;
Those of us who have always loved her.

Gentleness has replaced the hardness;
Tenderness to listen and to tell,
Gone away the lifeblood's tempestuous swell.

The living room now dying room...
A waiting room kept busy to supply
Liquids and pills,
Foot rubs, soft questions:
Will you eat an egg?
Maybe a bite of avocado?
Bacon is good, even more now
In its thin saltiness slowly ******.

Phone calls and letters arrive,
Some rejected; some received
To lift and give a little light.