Hold Your Mother's Hand

A specter of war looms in the news
but I am not thinking about
those who are fighting,
those who have died,
those who will die.

I am thinking about a young boy
with a tumor in his brain.

I am thinking about a friend
undergoing chemotherapy.

I am also thinking about a friend with
malignant tumors in one of her lungs.

The young boy may not live to see five.

The chemo has taken her hair and breasts.

Her care is taking her to another coast.

Our frailty is not news.
Impermanence is fact.

My attention is split.
My mind wanders between thoughts
and hopes, stubs it's toes on the couch.

The war will happen.
If not between those countries
then between two others.
Those I know may live,
they may not.
I hope they do.
My voice feels very small.
Remember being a child
lost in the store
wondering where
your mother was?