The end of a cigarette is my daughter

[ChristopherSea]

Another superior piece Eileen. This metaphor is well thought out and poignant, if you don’t have an aversion to smoking (I smoked, but quit years ago). The ability to both hold your daughter, while inhaling her essence into your body and bloodstream is so encompassing and brilliant. You pulled off something magical, something we all might wish for if possible. On the other hand, the transient nature of a burning cigarette is tragic is this context and you captured that as well. I may have missed the same point that Heslopian did with ‘like Christ’. The misted density may have anointed your feet with perfume, but if the memories of them were forgotten, then washed is apropos, yet if washed we are left with Christ and perfume again. The lost hope between sofa cushions works better than those behind the baking soda in the fridge for me poetically, but both are very clever. Disappointment coagulating on window panes is potent and I likened it to tar on the lungs of a smoker. The love, angst and loss are well dramatized in your close. I may have worded it differently:

This end, this conclusion, of a wet, bitter
Cigarette is my daughter. This end – — – this is the end.
This is the end of me.

Not sure, as it would more than likely have a different meaning. Thank you so much for sharing such passionate work with us!/Chris