We didn’t know our mom would live so long,
who lost her mother while gestating me.
But till the virus she was going strong,
although that struck coincidentally
with normal wear that’s no calamity:
her parts became too tenuous to fix.
She daylight falls asleep so easily.
She’s 95. Will she greet 96?


This entry was posted in Coronaverse, Family, Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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