ticking

time curls her fingers around 

my throat, two on my carotid

noting beats per minute, 

subtracting from the total. 

both mother and amen,

only she knows when. 

my father’s father spent a life 

on tobacco and German obstinance. 

the family cancer seared tally marks 

faster than he could catch them. 

the charges went off;

he just watched. called it 

acceptance. I called it arson.

my father started counting 

while his tumor was still quiet

the helix of our bloodline slashing 

the same tally. I wonder–

how many ways can a man say yes? 

he has bellowed them all to stay. 

I am both their daughters.

I don’t carry the man’s cancer, but I have my own tally.

Sometimes I set charges, but snip the line just in time

I check my threadbare pulse. 

When I can catch my breath

I say yes.