I Sometimes Feel Her

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Meelosmom

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I sometimes feel her pressing on my right side.

Why the right? She lingers there.

She leaves me pennies

That appear out of nowhere

When I’ve earned an angel wing.

I dreaded her birthday, the first

Since she left.

No cake or cards, no gifts.

Coming up… memories of her end of days.

That call.

Her body fighting her,

We watched.

We rallied for her,

Held her close,

Fed her,

Combed her hair.

Gregorian chants

Took her in and out of her life.

She spoke the language of angels.

How they argued,

Divine negotiation with intonation

And syllables.

Her voice wasn’t hers at all.

Is this how it goes?

And terror gripped her as she faced

The indescribable,

Pushing it away with such force,

We thought

This is it.

Debate and battle gave way more ultimately

To stillness and surrender.

Image: My Mother

Extraordinary Sunshine Weaver