The difficulty of disabled parenting was predictable,
but nothing could prepare me
for having to say goodbye to my wife again
on problem #7.
I lost focus while sitting with my daughter at the kitchen table,
watching her struggle,
her brow wrinkling tight and loose again.
Her demeanor reflected the resemblance of
her breastless, exhausted mother
exerting all of her mind into my hand's grasp,
her face squeezing stern to still as she failed.
Heartbreaking.
Really good poem!
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