Inspired by Scotia Nightpoetry

it’s been fourteen years
since she didn’t die,
has lost all the weight
from last year’s birthing
(shed it like washing
silt from her hair)
and rests her hopes and doubts
on the same survivor shoulders
that carried her
from innocent adolescence
to harrowed adulthood

the same survivor shoulders
that fourteen years ago
all of our tears fell down upon,
all of our hopes and doubts
couldn’t hold up
as hair fell in chunks
onto the bottom of the bath,
her youth (our youth)
disappearing as quickly
as the drain
could carry it all away.

it’s been fourteen years
since she didn’t die.
between now and then
the scars on her face, neck
have shaped her into
the woman, the mother,
the researcher of life
who carries her hopes and doubts
on the same survivor shoulders
that led her into the life
her dreams once told her she could live.