Mother just spoke.
They were good words.
Those words hung in the air.
They spoke of goodbye.
Not the goodbye after coffee,
but the goodbye of crossing over.
Heavy words rather than everyday words.
Love made them buoyant
and resonant in my ear and heart.
All people are new at dying.
In life, we are not so practiced
at letting go.
Her words were not of the other side,
but this side of love and might have beens.
The simple truth as if to prepare us.
As if we were still too young to see,
to understand the obvious,
to feel the frailness of her grip.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney
postscript
This poem looks back to my mother’s passing in 2001.
