Mother sleeps
She’s lying in bed when I find her in there
Her head on a pillow as if she’s aware
Of the view that you’ll have of her good looking profile
But she’s nothing but silence. She’s nothing but stillness.
Stillness profound as her spirit has left
Her body’s cool flesh. Of her soul it’s bereft
So now memories, just memories remain there in place.
Like old photos when she looked just like Lauren Bacall.
And the stories of dust storms at her house on the farm
When they’d seal doors and windows. Put wet rags in the cracks
When they’d plow rows with horses and she’d ride their broad backs.
Like her dad she was quiet and her temper was even
Just a girl with black eyes in those old family pictures
She stood still. Didn’t really enjoy the attention
Now she’s still in her bed. And so what would she mention?
Maybe crying when children would sing right in tune.
Maybe seeing her shadow in the light of the moon.
But she saw a true world. Didn’t wax sentimental.
Some memories are hard but I’ll try to be gentle
And I’ll do all the things that you do with the dead.
I’ll hear people be sorry. I’ll remember her love.
That’s fine. She’d say, fine. Now you’ve done enough.”
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