Smoke that leaves a cigarette,
can never reappear.
Laced with cancer,
my mother inhales it, again and again.
From one a day, to
a pack another,
slowly falling into a realm of darkness.
Dark, like her wrinkling,
under eye skin.
Yellow teeth, bad breath;
the least of her problems.
“I’ll try to stop,” she says,
reacting to her daughter, Nikki, sobbing.
Funny that, Nikki’s just a nickname;
But my mother will defeat it, she’ll stand up,
sweep the ashes off the ground.
As Nikki rings the rehab door,
the cigarette falls to the floor.