Beneath the Delicate Fabric of her Heart

When she was 40, she dressed in
vintage clothes, patterns from the jazz age
traversing over shoulders clad in silk and velvet.
She'd go to the local pizza joint for a slice
of pepperoni, sweeping through the door
with flare, wrapped in emeralds and aubergine.
Grand entrances were her thing.

At 48, when the cancer came and
chemotherapy loomed at the door with
teeth that threatened and growled, she
scoffed and went shopping for chemo clothes.
In a purple suede dress and costume jewelry
with flowery beads the size of plumbs,
she sauntered up to the reception desk at
the cancer center, dressed with flare
to fight for her life.

In a hospital bed at 52, a month before
her death, she scoured clothing catalogs
and ordered a dress to die in.
Peach silk that reflected the light in her
cheeks, she beamed with joy at how
beautiful she felt on the night of her final
Christmas, laughing with her children.

Beneath the Delicate Fabric of her Heart

Even as her feet sank into the swirling
tongue of winter, I could hear her laughter.
Unfurling notes of bliss that danced with
the breath of the wind and fluttered
beneath the delicate fabric of her heart,
plucking smiles from her mouth like petals.