poem mother death

The old negatives in their worn photo-store envelop

Nagged me to print them like a message

From the other side.

I could see they were images of ranch life

In the 20s and 30s, horses, haying, wagons, cowboys and cows.

That I expected. But not you, Mom.

My last memories of your aging, bent body, your rage at your loss

Of mobility, pushing a walker, attention riveted on the street,

Knowing another fall would mean the end.

I remember your anger at being marginalized even by your own family

At your dinner table

Because of your loss of eloquence.

Near the end, I shrank from your eyes

That seemed to judge with fury this world

That put you in such misery to die your death

Through an act of your will.

I couldn’t understand how the mother I loved,

The mother who did nothing but love and support me

All my life could be so angry.

Then you finally died,

And I put your little coffin of ashes

In the ground next to Dad,

A moment I can’t remember without crying even today.

It’s been years now that I have been left with only

An indelible memory of your last furious fight for dignity.

But now, Mom, I see your joy, beauty, and youth,

Even before I was born,

Even before you met Dad.

I can see in these old photos,

Of the sandhills-ranch life,

In your eyes, the thoughtful gentleness

That would bring me to birth, and I weep.

I weep for you, for your beauty and your misery.

I weep for my own dwindling future and fading past,

I weep for us all.