Smoke
smothers my mother
With
pillows of fog
Spewing
from tar-choked tumors
Wheezing
in her breast.
Narrow
ridges of smoke like
Silent
scythes held aloft
Are
splitting apart her lungs
And
spilling out her air.
Smoke
smothers my mother
And
spools above her head
In
rings like cloudy crowns
Vanishing
with every cough.
