I saw her scar today,
a prideful star basking in its curtain raising.
(Her black blouse had slipped too low.)
I knew about the cancer, she had told me.
I don’t know why I am surprised by that flash of flesh,
that red reminder of…everything!
I am not a mother. I have no mother.
I don’t want to stay here.
My interpretation of everything, tired refrain.
The red grin cuts me from the ore of rumination,
demands my attention.
She does not see my seeing.
She is laughing, the victor’s liberal laugh,
spoil snatched from the ancient unknown enemy.
A red blur. Senses swap. I see by listening.
And I want to forget…everything.