I don't deal with Mom's cancer
by standing outside
inhaling a clove cigarette.
I need the smoky softness
to blur the clarity of the night.
The moon is so close.
I could surprise him--
kiss his astonished mouth.
The rushing whoosh of the freeway
is soothing,
hushed by distance.
Snowdrops break through
the frozen midnight soil.
Their little lives mean nothing.
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