At 94, my mother became mortal.
She didn’t want to end
her life this way—in her words,
pathetic, helpless. She was ready
to leave, but her body wanted
to stay; her body, fighting
to escape the deathbed, one pale limb
poking through the bars, frail arms
struggling to thrust her up. Life
was demanding more while Death
made its own demands.
My mother, who had so long
awaited, even invited, this moment,
began her silent dance. So unused
to finding her without words,
I couldn’t find my own.
When she left this world,
she was alone in her room;
the med school whisked her away
before I had the chance
to hold once more her bony hand
folded in mine, a fistful of twigs.
is the author of the chapbooks The Belly Remembers (Pearl Editions) and Along the Fault Line (Picture Show Press, 2022), and three full-length volumes of poetry: Wild Domestic and Moraine (Pearl Editions, 2011 and 2017) and Morpheus Dips His Oar (Sheila-Na-Gig Editions, 2023). Her work has appeared in A Year of Being Here, Chiron Review, ONE ART, Shelia-Na-Gig, The Worcester Review, Writer’s Almanac, Your Daily Poem and many other publications.
Author’s website:
https://tamaramadisonpoetry.com
