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Tenacity of Lace

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Musings #45



I start to tell her the doctor thinks

she is much closer now.  After all

she has said about wanting to die,

I assume this news will comfort her.


But those eyes, that barely stay open

these days, widen and stare. I swear

I can hear the questions

swirling in her head – what’s wrong?

maybe a blood test? do I need surgery?


So I make light of what I’d begun to say

– he’s new, you’ll fool him! –

and quickly change the subject,

ask her about the past,

chat about my day. 


She tires, shuts her eyes.

I brush her hair, stroke her forehead –

as if my fingers could discover

what she really wants.



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