The blood in my belly crashes like waves against my ribs.
My ribs jut as fine splinters under my breasts.
Stand still, I say.
My body won't.
A ragged breath leaves my lungs as hot tears threaten my face hostage.
She's dying and she can't feel it.
I'm not dying so why do I feel it?
Stop aching, I say.
Her body cracks like a tree branch when they lie her down.
Her teeth stained with cigarette ashes leaves her swollen tongue confined.
Her moans from sickness leave a sticky sense in the air.
Stop breathing, I say.
But the machine pumps more air into her thin, black lungs as I grip the chair.
Nurses bustle past my weak form on the stairs.
Help me, she says.
It's now my turn to be her mother.
The beast in her brain snaps in hot flashes towards her.
A tumor drips down her spine and paralyzes her.
Sleep, I say. Please.
And so she did.
