Trance – a poem by Lisa Molina


Moon shaped as a C
for cancer
for chance
for cure.

The nurses hang 
the bags of potions
casting the killing spells
on all his blood cells.

My ritual now:
Light an electric candle,
brew some herbal tea,
listen to the
of the 

Pulsating pumping 
in this room of
nearly-broken hearts.

Lying on the bed 
across the room
from my sleeping son,

I squeeze 
each separate
of my Rosary;

“And blessed is the 
fruit of thy womb...”

“And blessed is the 
fruit of thy womb...”

Until I drift
into the trance
of night.

I awaken to 
of the janitor
her magic
broom wand,

ridding the room
of bacterium.

Morning sun conjures
a beam of golden light 
onto his placid pale 
puffy face-

An angel’s charm.

For today, the
umbilical cord cells
of another mother’s
womb-child will
resurrect his

The supernatural bond
between these children
never to be broken.

Stepping out of bed,
I walk to the mirror over
the sanitized sink where

the unrecognizable
frightened face 
gazes back at me,
and asks again,

“Is this real?”

Lisa Molina is a writer and educator in Austin, Texas. She has taught high school English and theatre, served as Associate Publisher of Austin Family Magazine, and now works with students with special needs. Her writing can be found in Amethyst Review, Bright Flash Literary Review, Trouvaille Review, Beyond Words Magazine, Neologism Poetry, and The Ekphrastic Review. Molina was recently named Poet of the Week on the Instagram page of The Literatus Magazine.


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