a question of past and what is passed
 
in a magnetized coffin
a muffled death knell hammers
i assume the pose of one who has already met her end
hands clasped, eyes closed
and mouth filled with a copper tang
 
a month of vertigo and innate paranoia
summon the spectre of my father
forty pounds gone and clumsy with cancer
he smiles as he discharges each earthly duty
with dignity and grace
 
and since i am my father's daugther (or so my mother
imparts to me in her more acerbic moments)
i seek answers from different branches
of the medical profession
they all say in unison:
you are going to die...
but not today,
and this does not comfort me...
 
i am a coward - i do not want to meet my end this way;
a slow blight overtaking the fertile fields of my mind
until all that is left behind
is a husk to bury in the ground
 
the verdict ...
my death sentence has been commuted
but the question remains:
will his legacy assert itself
when the end comes
and can i be my father's daughter
and do us both proud?