Mother

You held my hand when the night was too big. Sang me to

sleep when the thunder came. You fought the monster that grew inside

long after the doctors ran out of names. I watched the light leave your

warrior eyes. Watched the strongest soul I'll ever know turn into weightless

ash in my palms while the world kept moving too slow.

You never asked for anything, except for me to live. Mother,

you were my last battlefield. Mother, you taught me how to never

yield. Even when the cancer won, even when the war was done,