Only daughter

Kate Burke

She laid her head on my lap as I embraced her,

Sat on her king-size bed,

My pink polka-dotted dress soaking up the weight of her tears

At six years old,

There’s no way to win.

Yet still I sat,

My mother’s head flat and heavy as a stone upon my legs

A typical Sunday after the death of her brother

Pill bottles tucked beneath pillows,

Peeking from forgotten pockets,

Remnants of promises unkept

She sobs, her pale hands outreached,

Shaking as they cup my unwavering face

I don’t think it will ever become easier.

I cannot fix what has broken,

What has shattered inside of her,

Inside of a woman now smaller than I

And so I stay,

Sitting on the king-size bed

A silent witness

To my mother’s relentless grief