(written fall 2001)
I sang four days
to mama, asleep
watching her breathe beside me
I asked her
"where are you, mama? where did you go?"
feeling her breathe beside me, yet not
four days I sang
four nights? four days?
I sang to fill her silence
to fill her breath
to find her and to lead her home,
to let her go.
I still sing for mama
beside me, yet not
and I breathe
for both of us
My Mama died at 1 am, five years ago today.
I was upstairs, asleep, when the nurse called me.
I sat up with Mama until they came to take her body away.
Today I planted an azalea bush in the yard.
Tonight I lit two Fourth of July sparklers in my garden.
Small offerings in remembrance.