The warrior sat. Curled. Fragile.
Wrapped in blankets and headdress.
Gaunt from the long siege. Cold in recovery.
The warrior stood. Straight. Thin.
Draped in small victories and defiance.
Weary from battle. Ravaged in body.
The warrior moved to the fire. Slowly. Smiling.
Swathed in warmth and peace.
Vigor from vulnerability. Sword in hand.
She shook off the chill of the morning
and the emotional chasm of the chemo,
To her afflicted bosom, clutched the moment
and lived in it. For herself. For her boys.
Because you cannot leave behind
that which you refuse to let go.
Powerful words of a fighting spirit....
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