My heart is heavy.
Trying to catch my breath
I feel so unsteady.
Concentration is a thing of the past
along with patience and my inborn sass.
I look in the mirror and I can’t see,
the woman I knew as me.
She has aged overnight there are furrows and lines,
the lifetime of stress and now this may define
her as a mere fraction of herself.
I try to run, I try to hide, I keep super busy until I
break down and cry.
The fetal position I take on the floor is the same one
my two-year old child assumes.
Oblivious to the crisis created by the death of his father,
he is the only one who slumbers.
If he can do without him, could he do without me?
Tomorrow I will try to muster more energy
because who else will attend to his needs?