Found Poem

Filled with awe
As i always am

Transform from a woman scared to kill spiders

To a woman immune to fear

When a sick or dying person is brought to her

I think my mother knows who she is

A sterile white cloth spread across the table

Pours water from a kettle into a basin

Dried herbs and tinctures and store-bought bottles

Her hands, the long, tapered fingers

Ever so gently
Cleans the mutilated flesh from his back
Sick to my stomach and useless
Breathless and flushed
Arrange shredded skin can be saved
Every stoke of the lash

Their meager store of painkillers

Hard to come by

Expensive and always in demand

But only for the worst pain possible

For people In the process of dying

To ease them out of the world