Blossoms

Outside the shuttle window, pink buds bloom 

like cherry blossoms, bright and bountiful 

in rain. The blue-gray sky is strung 

with clouds; winter has not had 

her last say. Signs of spring abound 

in blossoms, stretches of green amongst 

ruddy brown. My child wonders 

at the way the tree branches look strung 

with the clay of bricks, asks: Are they alive? 

We spot the green and the buds, feel the cool 

raindrops and answer: Yes, yes. 

They rise from their seat in the shuttle 

ahead of me, bright yellow puffball atop 

their rainbow cap bouncing. Step forward 

through the rain, past the branches and blossoms. 

Open the door to the clinic, greet the morning 

as if it were always sunny, as if were always spring. I wonder 

at the way the blossoms lean into us, ask: Will we survive this? 

Listen to the faith in their voice, see the strength in their step, feel 

the strength of their spirit fill the room and think: Yes, yes.

Stacie Eirich is a mother of two and author. Her book, Hope Like Sunlight (Bell Asteri Publishing, 2024), is an illustrated memoir in poetry, prose and art of her family’s journey to a cure for their child from brain cancer. All proceeds from the book benefit St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital & Ronald McDonald House. Her poems have recently been published in The Amazine, The Bluebird Word and Synkroniciti Magazine. She lives in Texas with her family. www.stacieeirich.com

Prisms

They wake with questions— 

some fun, silly, sweet: Do slugs have blood? 

Is water wet? Questions of wonder: Can humans fly? Do we breathe in heaven? 

And the sweetest, most tender, as they hold their stuffy frog 

named Fernando: He isn’t really alive, is he? 

They want him to have a heart beating like theirs. 

They want others to appreciate the small things 

as they do, tiny medicine cups and elevator buttons 

and shiny beads and spiny patterns on leaves in sunlight. 

Their curiosity spans through the turn of each hour 

into the next, through long days in the clinic, evenings spent 

playing card games and chatting about gravity and the earth, 

the stars and constellations, how they held their spinal fluid 

in an MRI and saw the vessels of their heart in motion. 

We laugh and they paint a pair of birds, fashion a swirling rainbow 

out of ribbons around us, do a jig down the hallway, ask again: 

Do I mind staying with them? Is it ok that I help them 

in the bath? I move the washcloth gently over their back 

as they ponder: What makes soap slippery? Can we travel backwards 

in time? I wish for the Delorean, for it to be 1985, to be 

seven years old again. The warm water falls over our skin 

and we fall silent as suds bloom. They ask: Am I asking 

too many questions? I shake my head No, No— 

tell them the truth, that they were always an inquisitive child, now 

an extraordinary teenager, and that questions mean 

they find marvels, that they are a keeper of wonder and life. 

In their eyes I see the echoing glisten of my own tears, my own 

terrible fears and magnificent hope. They ask: Am I ticklish? 

I smile and reach forward and we tumble 

into laughter again, prisms of sparkling light 

through cancer’s storm. 

Stacie Eirich is a mother of two and author. Her book, Hope Like Sunlight (Bell Asteri Publishing, 2024), is an illustrated memoir in poetry, prose and art of her family’s journey to a cure for their child from brain cancer. All proceeds from the book benefit St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital & Ronald McDonald House. Her poems have recently been published in The Amazine, The Bluebird Word and Synkroniciti Magazine. She lives in Texas with her family. www.stacieeirich.com

Warriors

They tell me they dreamed 

I was Viking Mama 

riding Golden Sparkle Dragon, 

wielding an ax, in a golden robe 

and chainmail dress I hovered above, 

unleashing fury upon those 

who would hurt them, 

upon those who would deny them 

the right to be anything 

but their Self. 

They tell me I spoke 

like an Ancient Goddess 

but to them my words were soft, 

To them my voice was comfort, 

my hair flowing long, my eyes 

still looking long into theirs, 

like on earth but in the dream 

my eyes were blazing flames. 

They tell me they knew 

Warrior Mama would fly 

to them, would fight for them 

would protect them 

fiercer than any other 

brighter than Golden Sparkle Dragon 

flashing through 

a fiery night sky. 

I tell them my love for them 

is like the dawn 

always rising 

always reaching higher 

overcoming any obstacle 

together, My Warrior Child 

beside me, our dragon carrying us 

into brilliant light 

Resilient, Triumphant 

as rainbows.

Stacie Eirich is a mother of two and author. Her book, Hope Like Sunlight (Bell Asteri Publishing, 2024), is an illustrated memoir in poetry, prose and art of her family’s journey to a cure for their child from brain cancer. All proceeds from the book benefit St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital & Ronald McDonald House. Her poems have recently been published in The Amazine, The Bluebird Word and Synkroniciti Magazine. She lives in Texas with her family. www.stacieeirich.com