My poem about the death of my mother
Her breathing on that last day soft and slow
A little troubled moments then to calm
And back to sleep. I reached and stroked her arm.
Was that we both were there something she'd know
Or had that passed ? Eyes flicked from side to side
Hearing two voices. Did she recognize
That I was there? She looks up and then tries
To wake a little. On the train I cried.
And I had said goodbye and so had Jane.
It was we did not know last of her days
There is the last word that a person says
They tire. Drugs sleep and death the end of pain.
Last glimpse her sleeping face closed eyes her skin
Against the bedding pale white paper thin.