in honor of my mother's departing moment (1911-2007)
It was yesterday, in the early afternoon light;
I held your hand closely in mine, the rosary beads
draped between our hands - together, passing
from one bead to the next,
Hail Mary, full of grace,
flavoring the room: a balm.
Breathing in deeply: All That Is.
The Lord is with thee
ninety-five year old vesseled spirit
with staccato breath.
Blessed art thou among women
emptying with each exhale, in the
The tide leaves the shore:
each wave withdraws deep
to the sea.
Blessed is the fruit of thy womb
a vessel made of red earth and chile;
once strong legs, a blackening blue,
as you take your leave
no longer needing them.
Ticket in hand, you turn away,
look at the clock, see that it’s time,
and move toward the gate that reads
Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of god,
water pouring into it’s source,
the vessel empties,
the breath rests,
and this time
Pray for us sinners.
The red-brown clay dries, crumbles...
returns to the earth,
now and at the hour of our death
as you leave: