“He tilts their tired faces gently to the spoon….The wires in the walls are humming some song, some mysterious song, bars in her head beating frantic”~Joni Mitchell
My mother grows translucent as dawn’s sky
she misses every morning. Sleepless nights
wracked with pain and only breath mastery
can bring control. There’s no relief in sight.
And even so she hobbles through this one
clear moment to the view seeking the sun
and blooms she’s planted, the window braving.
The ferns’ furcate venation, forks waving
soft sighs, romantic promises of life
eternal, lovely gentle green unseen
and all the angels’ wafture through the screen
could lighten and delight, could ease her plight
but energy is gone, the morphine calls
and tiredly she slips out of pain’s thrall.