as she lay dying

as my mother lay dying.

unable to uncurl her legs,
her spine, her
brown
eyes flickered.

it was hard to tell what remained
inside, but

we spoke to her as if she
heard
and understood every word
we said.

we talked of love, of being grateful.
we cried.

she held on, she held on.
tearless
and defiant.

always thinking that tomorrow
she'll work
her way out of this.