Comfort Care
Phil Huffy
​
Waking early,
thinking again the wall
and floor are reversed,
which no doctor can explain.
 
Betrayed by the
epicenter of motherhood
and now overtaken
by a rude parody of the same.
 
Asked hourly
about the need for comfort
and wanting instead
the end of discomfort.
 
Still “herself” as they say,
a broken shell, of  course,
blood pooling, cancer growing
skin like old newsprint,
 
and then awake, listening
to the voices around her.
Those gray haired children
she raised not so long ago.