She died without me,
waiting until early morning hours.
Allowing a small grin, I know that if she were here
we’d giggle because we weren’t morning people.
She would have said to me, “I’ll take my leave
when you can’t see.” She knew I would be sleeping.
But that phone, that nurse’s voice,
the words that scarred me: There’s no time
acceptable.
I went, saw her. Saw her, gone.
Mom, you didn’t.
A white room, nursing home,
white blanket over her, hands folded,
not in prayer. That was left to me.
Her legacy? Fifty years of love
and no regrets.
We spoke those words out loud,
she to me, I to her.
They hold me now.
November 16, 2012 at 10:54 am
My times were 5:20am and 4:25pm for my Aunt and Mom these past few years. Very touching Maggie.
November 16, 2012 at 12:46 pm
Lines like the one about not being morning people – those are the parts that personalize poetry. Those are what are so frequently lacking in the pieces I am reading these days. There is realness and truth to this that I really liked.
November 16, 2012 at 1:57 pm
Thank you, Switters and Jessica. I appreciate your comments. The poems about my parents’ deaths popped out of me unexpectedly this morning and are written in no particular form, which is very unusual for me.
November 16, 2012 at 4:05 pm
absolutely beautiful!