from Wiregrass
Woman A/The
She lies on a cot.
The roaches crawl
on her white skin.
Flies hover
over her bloody chest.
I clean her radiation wounds
with salt
while she rehearses
her death.
(The first child
remembers most vividly
the mother
as a young
and vibrant woman
in red lipstick
laughing.)
I focus now on scrubbing
away the bad years.