Light Switch

Light switches off
Disrobes the dark.
Like a chicken's neck rings at its demise.
In a black hole in space and time.
I call out my daughter's name,
She answers not in this hospital room as cold
Assumes I'll abandon her to a
Soliloquy of personalities
Counseling themselves.

On the edge
Of her bed I desperately try
To understand
Jumbled words without meds as referee,
Describing her history,
Multi color squares of a patchwork quilt now askew
Stitched with names of snowmen in spring.

As we "talk"
We thumb through a cardboard shoebox of
Faded photos of her childhood before and after my divorce that
Weave and tie
Threads together from our tattered past.
My frayed nerves decipher, deflect, or buffer
Every loaded response she utters
Until she whispers low and clear,
"I love you, Mom."

Cold draft relents, quilt squares align
Like a jigsaw puzzle picture patiently done,
I embrace her thin frame and warm arms take hold,
Not knowing how,
Or for how long,
She'll keep
Her light
Switched
On.