Mother hugged the dried bones of
her tired white gown and syringe goodbye,
she was tired.
There was no time to
right that which was wrong,
to feel the wince of a patient
with her needle in his bum.
No time to sniff the infected wound
and corpses.
Mother turned,
she tossed the last wood of nurse and white
into the roaring fire
there was no twig left
save the words of her father
he too was gone,
lost
a mere stirring in the fireplace.
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