Trance 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 whooshing whishing (wishing) of the cat-purring pumps. Pulsating pumping in this room of nearly-broken hearts. Lying on the bed across the room from my sleeping son, I squeeze each separate bead-bead-bead 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 swishing (wishing) sounds of the janitor sweeping 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 blood. 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.