American Way of Death

Many cultures around the world believe that a white moth is a visitation by the soul of a deceased loved one.

My mother’s dying wishes couldn’t fit
into the shibboleth of death’s toolkit
doctors wielded. Shielded by CYA
they poked and prodded, toxified to buy

stint in drug-filled haze, so thorough the dose
the ruction didn’t seem to faze. Who knows?
She couldn’t speak before her final breath
incandescent, luminous into death.

Now here beside the lake, taking a break
from packing, following the lists she’d make
each morning while I’d compose morning praise,
her songbirds sip and flutter, greet new days.

Inspired by: Thorough, Shibboleth, Incandescent and Ruction and this moth who came for the morning poem creation.

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

7 thoughts on “American Way of Death”

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