Their petal-soft faces bask in sunshine,
a sun that licks the hollow bruises
beneath their sparkling tired eyes.
Do you hear our prayers ascending
in the soft swirl of white foam,
in this cathedral of silent bubbles
flowing from their plastic green frog?
Do you feel the shift of fragile forces
which bear the brunt of tenuous hopes
as we laugh with our wounded toddlers
here in this bright early spring glow?
We were strangers when you said to me,
"I think I have you to thank for my
daughter's earlier treatment schedules.".
Then I knew we had more in common
than we had with our own best friends.
We coax, create, we command normalcy
for our toddlers in this battleground
where victory is ravaged by the treatment.
In our cathedral of silent bubbles we pray.
Iowa Poetry Association