Raven’s Wing Poetry

Four foot eleven,
One hundred and ten pounds -
And she fights like an army
Of a hundred thousand
At the gates of Hell.
And her Hell is a tumor,
Grey and black within
Her flesh,
Swimming beneath the deep
In a visceral and blood ocean.
She hears the shark-theme music
Creeping softly into her ears.

Four foot eleven,
One hundred and ten pounds -
And God-infused, she looms
Above that tumor,
With the doctor behind her
Wielding sword-scalpels
Ready to slash that thing to Hell,
And slash it well.
Her thin-frail shadow
Upon the operating room floor
Disguises bones the strength of iron
And a heart of steel,
And we feel
The simple truth
That she ain’t going nowhere,
Not this grandmother of
Four foot eleven and
One hundred and ten pounds.

Written 5/7/08
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.