Today is my mother’s birthday. She would be 106. She died when she was 95.
Here is a poem from my book Vexed Questions:
The Music of What Happens
Vinegar and rust,
from whose body did you come?
meets a static victim
waiting for the bullet to hit the orange.
by the Catbird’s cry
the politician with cache
with carte blanche,
turns into a
the great Horned Owl
calls across the hay dry meadow in
the parkland in the dark
of four am,
who summoned me?
In her bedroom in early October
sitting up to breathe better,
propped up like a woman in labor
looking in through the gate of eternity,
my mother spreads her arms ,
shoulders squared to meet God.
2 thoughts on “The music of what happens”
What a hauntingly beautiful poem about your mother’s death.
I’ve missed seeing your occasional posts, and am wondering how you’re doing these days. Praying all is well, Elouise 🙏🏻