One Last Mothering

There’s nothing to cry about.

It’s my mother’s voice speaking, 

Out of the blue, for the first time in days

Her eyes fly open like a doll’s.

There’s nothing to cry about. 

And there’s nothing to fear.

Her eyes flutter shut, her
Voice sinks back into its box
For good.

Alone in the room I still cry.
But now, upraised and thankful

For the shimmer above the clouds

For the waves of light in which
A thimble of flesh weighs more than a star

Where only souls survive,

And there's nothing to cry about, 

And nothing to fear.