Stretched across a crochet circle, taut, all thought laid out
before me.
Nerves pulled in all directions, open and raw from so much
emotional turmoil.
Not wanting Dad to suffer, yet not wanting to let go, we
continually ride a roller coaster that's out of control.
Wanting to dictate and make some sense, find only that we're
constantly holding our breath, wondering what will come next.
(12: 46 p.m. - 7/16/98)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem