a Bunch of Pie
By dottie
A bunch of pie a bunch of pie she did reply when asked what she had eaten that day. A bunch of pie a bunch of pie and cups of coffee: drie I stood and watched her pick her hair gray and tangled: soft. And saw a glimpse: so sharp and clear of life and in it: Death. For standing affixed in bathroom small: stood mother, frail, of mine suffering in the throes of hell a cancer: not benign. And to the crying question why-why me? One can answer not. For who can know the suffering of a cancer:sowing rot. Metaphysical and ethical dilemmas crossed my mind: To live with pain or not to live? Seek ye:your divine. Written January 28th, 2002 © on Jan 28 2002 12:49 PM PST 0 • 13
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"A bunch of pie..."