Don’t dare to go outside, my sweet lady
Although we’re just a bubble, ever-ready to burst,
You’re safe with us, I promise
I remember catching a bus a day before we would meet again
Crying, because I thought I was going to kill you,
For I had stepped into a world
Which was trying to live with covid while you have cancer.
And it feels like I can’t breathe knowing you won’t,
Between the grief-stricken gasps, gritting teeth through glaring tears
One might be assuming symptoms of that thing, when they are effects of the other
And I hate how the two interchange,
How our fear is preyed upon by them both.
What is going through your sweet head?
While I usually wear my heart on my sleeve, I stiffen up
When I see that you are guarding yours behind secret chambers,
For you’re a headstrong rationalist, a chin-up kind of woman,
But when the night has been rough to you,
And you wake up vomiting, with words I’ve never heard come from your mouth before,
That proud chin drops in your hands
And what I see before me is a scorned child with a distasteful gaze
As I try to hand you your peeled grapes or spiceless daal.
I’m sorry sad one, I feel like a terrible parent,
When we say the world outside is too big and bad for you right now,
For best intentions look so opposite
When the blue-suited baboons control what comes next.
I felt like I couldn’t offer much at first,
Helplessness hurts the most.
But I’m trying, really hard, to be your doctor,
Your friend, your mother, anything you want and need,
Even if that means at moments I have to stop being your daughter
So that I can get you to keep on being my mother.
It’s selfish, I know. And I’m sorry.