For Mom, invading my sleep at 4:30 in the morning

RoseMary Griffith
1 min readMay 12, 2020
My tiny mother, the month she died

My tiny mom sits on the edge of the cool porcelain tub
resting after her shower.
Once five feet tall, she is smaller now,
lighter too,
one breast missing from a mastectomy,
that cancer gone years ago,
a new version working on her lung.

RoseMary Griffith Author of The Writer’s Travel Journal — for your adventures. Essayist of humor, grief, & family — they go together.