My Late Mother, Visits This Morning …

An image, i could have swore

was your face, while mine

dripping wet, glasses on the

sink, blurry vision – hands

cupped, water splashing like

morning prayers – I saw your

look in the mirror. The one

when you were fighting all

the King’s horses and all

the King’s men, like when

somebody was messin’ with

one of yours.

 

A feeling. Like old women

wailing at icons and kissing

pictures of saints – and I

get this feeling, that rushes

through my soul – something

like a haunting, ominous breath

or a reminder … “These are not

children, playing children’s games!

A warm kiss on my ear from

somewhere there, and my

morning ritual continues …

 

When you were dying, i asked

to whom were your praying …

like two students might ask, who

are you reading these days, and

you said … “Mother Mary.”

I should have known you would

say that. You said, “She was so

powerful, and knew what they

were doing to her son. She even

saw her own son, die.”

 

And like that, this little boy wakes

with a download! A muse whispering

from some distant star. Vibrations

tickling thought and memory. A

voice of a writer who never was

allowed to speak – slips in like

a dervish merchant, like a little

kid tapping one shoulder and

then playfully running

the other way. —

 

… and after writing that down …

i walk out my backdoor –

in ritual, trees waving – frigid

breeze of morning and yes

i hear you! That lonesome

whistle! We used to be.

And, I loved you.

Your cold steel friends, unforgiving

extremes … heat like radiation –

cold like death. Everywhere

I look this morning, i feel

as if I am walking a graveyard.

Memories like grass and weeds

not cut for years around markers

long forgotten …

Escape is not relative or

being courted –

death like vision and mission

moves about like fireflies

in every tearless glance.

And i feel a peace

in knowing love is

as a lover sings lullabies

to a dead child as leaves

fall to renewal – as

light fades like a life

connection – as an old

person only remembers

the good old days.

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