For Inez and her Mother

even as we
became yours,
you are like
us no longer.
your belly
swells again,
that old
pale moon-
eve's curse
redoubled:
death now
haunts
your womb.
old mother,
it is time.
the fresh pink
sweet of your
babies' squalls,
lacing up shoes
felt crowns and
heroes' capes
tart apples and
honey in the
autumn:
all the birthing
work
is done.
sweet mother,
rest.
it is time.

--For Inez and her mother, who died of ovarian cancer.