Anne’s Yawn: Roaring Through It

Anne’s Yawn: Roaring Through It

Anne yawns — wild as the MGM lion,

Jaw unfurling in slow-motion spectacle,

Lips stretching, raspberry pink,

Her tongue a red carpet, rolling out for invisible guests,

Teeth gleaming in a sunrise of surprise,

The ceiling trembles at her operatic opening,

She could swallow the morning whole.

But behind the roar, fatigue coils tight —

Cancer’s shadow drags its weight on her bones,

Each yawn peeling off another layer of strength,

Her ribs ache for rest, her eyes for oblivion,

The lion roars, but the cage is inside her chest.

Your friend,

Robert