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She watched us catch fireflies, study their flickers through the dime store plastic dome. Sipped her iced wine, offered her shorthand for contentedness-- "My children are my jewels".
I help her into the gown before today's radiation, unclasp her jeweled bracelet- one stone for each child, soft gold dented where our infant teeth came in.
She chatters as we head home, content with the shape of the clouds, the curving road, her prize of new books.
Her words shine against the deepening grays just through the windshield, a simple adornment
Like light held in a jar in my hand.
Katherine Hauswirth lives and works in the shoreline area of Connecticut. Her poems, essays, and articles have been published in such publications as the Christian Science Monitor, Lutheran Digest, Orion online, the On Being blog, Wilderness House Literary Review, Blueline, Whole Life Times, and many more. Katherine blogs at www.fpnaturalist.com. This poem was inspired by a quiet moment in the pre-radiation locker room with her mother-now an 87-year-old, five-year cancer survivor.
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