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Effie

(1967-2014)

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Picture at the bottom

tied up in a pit of moths.

The royal crown, life without

a wheel to ride. Paving up the stream

where children once charged down an incline

and jumped into its shallow body.

Instead I am weakened, unable to hold

my breath for more than ten seconds,

lungs, tender with each breath, wounded, flaccid,

but airways enflamed, engrossed with harsh swelling.

Will I die this way? Before my children are fully grown?

Will this be the place, alone, afraid, surrounded by love with

no love able to save me, repair my pulse, give current

enough to dismantle the throne of this disease?

I lay on a bed, under sheets. I know what is tomorrow. I have no choice

but to let go. My children! My husband! My darling loves!

Winter has not yet come – here, but more like spring

crushing my…