Reflection

As some of you know, my daughter was diagnosed with breast cancer 14 months ago. She survived her horrible, not so good, very bad year, and has returned to work unbowed and positive spirit intact.

Of course, I had to write about her plight, viewing it from both a mother's and a physician's perspective. An uncomfortable position to occupy. With her blessing I am posting the first of an occasional poem about this journey.



Reflection


Grandma,
a tumor hijacked your ovaries, slackened
the drape of your dress, loosened the fit
of your rings, traveled with you
to a new land, filched your final breath.

And you, only 47. The age of my daughter
now fighting breast cancer, hitching-up her jeans
as she walks the heath, wedding band snug in a pocket.

Is it a spun thread of DNA embedded with shards
that snags the two of you?

Like facing a mirror darkly, one to the other familiar:
two women ex-pats by choice
two women petite, stoic, gutsy
two women shadowboxing on their own.

You with prayer and morphine,
she with chemo and surgery.

The silvering behind the looking-glass grown cloudy.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor