Mother's Eyes

I see your eyes, staring into mine.

You see my fear, 

Afraid that yours will close

and not open again.

The fringe between life and death is so trivial.

One day you are fine and then the next

Blood like a melted orange cream pop

Left alone on a scorching summer afternoon.

A two-week trip for Mommy is all it is,

Grandpa says. I know this is a lie.

Mommy is dying. 

Thin. Useless. Lifeless.

Her own life force fails her,

unable to coagulate.