Through the Wrong End of the Telescope
       

I've been looking for a mother
since mine died early and badly
and mothers have been looking for me.

I found one, a poet, who turned out
to be dying, from cancer, of all goddamned
things, fighting and dying, epically

elegantly, with so much more grace
than Mama had shown.

And then there were the volunteers,
less admirable as role models,
but kind, sweet, well-intentioned,

themselves orphaned and aching,
but I could not love them fully.
They did not dwarf me.

And, like my own mother,
never held the scope of me.

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Copyright © 2022 Melissa C. Johnson All rights reserved
from Cancer Voodoo
Diode Editions
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission