For twenty-nine years I waited for my mother to die,
wrote a story and hid it well:
My Mother’s Diary.
When Mom first got cancer, I was a child.
She wouldn’t last long.
But it came and went,
came and went again,
“You have to be a warrior,” Mom always said.
I kept waiting for the battle to end.
She fought on through surgeries,
countless hormone treatments.
When my time comes they will call me proud when I say,
“No, thank you.”
I will explain that I’ve been holding this ticket
for decades. My bags are packed.
I’m ready to fly away.