How did she go?
The mystery.
This woman with no memories,
No way to find the path,
No way to recall a face,
No way to know she dreamed,
No way to know the face of Death.
How did she manage?

We held her close,
Go to the light.
But did she?
Light?

Her last breaths like those of a guppy,
Out of the water too long.
Did she know?
Was Dad there?
The chakras still spun
Until spent in the sand.
No wind.

My heart collapsed
In the knowing.
I was then a stranger, an orphan.
Her guide and now
Not her guide.

In a dream, there she was,
Resting on a bed in an alcove,
The curtains draped on either side,
Her shoes placed gingerly under the bed.
I’m lost!
Where’s my wallet?
The bill to be paid.
Three shiny pennies lined up in a row.
Pick them up, she said.
I resisted
The bad luck.

It was 2:05p.m.
When they listened for her whispers
Trapped in her throat
For a different guide.

Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: My Mother