No Map for This

She called to say the doctors found a lump.
Hours away, universe dark above us.
Coming home from dinner, what could we say
to our daughter, traveling through the night?
New moon and daffodils rising, the stars
were bright and clear. Over the phone she cried –
we listened: car slow, slower. We felt old,
though earlier carefree. Her father kissed
me on the cheek that night, his lips still warm
and sweet. But back-to-back we went to bed,
the silence growing deep. And though we woke
throughout the night, we never said a word.
In the morning all was changed by sharp March
winds, lumps and bloodroot blooming with our fears.