Sharp

I saw disease kill my mother slowly,
eating her movement.

No matter how much the death expected,
shock stains the grief.

It made me stupid in silly ways:
I brewed a cup of coffee
and put it in the fridge.

Those around can care resolve.
Even my run off cat observed
and fussed me her affection.

Here.
I know your pain.
Let me care.

image: poem

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