Sunday, May 13, 2012

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.