I observed her through the window and prayed,
Please don’t let anything happen to her.
Don’t let her heart beat like an overwound
clock, gears murmuring and springs pulsing
until they burst, leaving
a dysfunctional face of gold and glass.
Don’t let her lose rhythm like when she serenades
the water droplets and the bubbles cascading
to the lukewarm puddle beneath her toes.
Don’t let her childhood be scrubbed
away like the dripping, grey, lint covered
adhesive rings on her
pink chest after another EKG.
Don’t let her scars steal
their eyes as she glides down the aisle
like an ivory stretcher in transport
to an crisp, sterile operating room teeming
with lab coats and radiant monitors.
Don’t deprive her children of tales
of courageous princesses conquering
furry beasts in lush,
extraordinary forests,
and a steady lullaby,
from beneath her ribs, to accompany
their dreams.
Don’t make her exasperated
while rests as if she’s sashayed
through each field of blooming
sunflowers and patch of scorching
lava our yard can inhabit.
But if this is the only way I can have her,
I will endure the stench
of antiseptic and the whizzing
of machines,
I will cleanse her dull skin with rags 
while she is attached to electrodes
like a puppet on strings,
and each time the vibrations
disturb her slumber,
and she shuffles to my bed,
seeping beneath the blankets
like fluid into her veins,
I will wrap my arms around
the earthquake in her chest.