Constance - Daniel Larkins

Because her lover quit her, Linda said
She would end her life puffing,
Shriveling, silent and slow suicide. I
Can’t help but think of my mother. I held
Her sharp knuckles and thin wrists and yellow
Fingertips—the drags made my mother: more
A woman, Skinny, younger and older,
Grow on her adrenal gland a tumor
The size of a filter. Disposable
Buyer—A smoker and her son in chains.
From my bed by the window, wind whistles
Speaking her speech, my mother exhaling
Speaking to me, sick, and sad, and wheezing.