I can’t help but see you, in the changing of the leaves The bright yellows, oranges, and reds And be reminded Of the years we had And the conversations we shared The times I made you laugh Floating, dropping Settling to the ground I can’t help but feel you In the beautiful gray skies When the light of the sun Is gentle on my eyes And remember our springs Our summer That has faded into fall And found you wasted away I can’t help but dread The nagging of your absence As the trees become barren And the sparkling Delicate snow Eases to the ground I can’t help but stare longingly At those limbs And remember a time Once when the trees bloomed And know that sadly These trees Will never bloom again
My mother and I
had storms between us
in my youth.
Not the peaceful rumbles and soft
pitter patter
of raindrops
on rooftops,
we were angry flashes
of blinding light,
and the deafening SLAM
of God’s fist against the ground.
The rains that drenched us,
flooding out all possibilities
of reconciliation.
But as time settled over us,
the tranquility rose between us,
like the quiet steam
of the pavement,
after a storm.
And as it made way for sunshine
breaking through the clouds,
and the joyful songs
of birds, reemerging,
I got to know two new women:
myself,
and the woman my mom had become.
Time has a way
of the sneaking senescence
of our parents,
and the maturing of their children.
As we see our futures
played out before us,
getting glimpses of what lay
on the road ahead,
The potholes, detours,
and storms in the distance.
As we watch our
mothers, fathers,
withering, frail,
vulnerable.
Needing us as much
as we once needed them,
they become as those
first entering this world,
as they ease their way out.
I am grateful for the years
of calm skies between us
that led me to the moment
when I gently cradled her hand,
assisting the delicate transition of life
just as she once cradled me,
and aided me with mine.
I sat by her side
and reassured her resting spirit
of the beautiful journey
of everlasting sunny skies
that lay ahead.
As my mother exited this world
and the storms which it births, with
one
fleeting
final
breath.
Incurable Hope 