The Cocoon

When the moment came
and the word received
gripped in our own convulsing hands

we heard our hearts stop all four chambers,
to give a brief moment of silence

and we felt our eyes film
with the mourning dew.

We lit candles, drank whiskey
while we listened to her spirit escape
at last from the titanium prison
of her struggling lungs

her daughter’s touch
her daughter’s voice
leading the way.

Cancer was her cocoon,
death her butterfly.

Nathan Tompkins


© February, 2018-Quail Bell Magazine