My women before me

I dream of a blend of your faces
As we have known them
My women before me.
So like nuts – the shell being unpicked to leave a sweetmeat centre
Maturing for it. Undressing from your flesh by the surgeons hand
And being strong in that

We were awake the last time – myself and my big fish like belly
Sensing the changes for you.
Portions of yourself being re-appropriated
You wave your resilience like a small flag afterwards
Finally home. Gently and for certain from the sofa
And we are proud of you

The aggressive frenzy of cancer in question
But never your bouncing back ability;
Mrs nifty crochet fingers
Or our love