I want to go, she says.
And I will let you go,
I say.
But how and when? she cries.
I sigh,
You have to have something
to die from, Mom,
And you are too healthy,
Even at ninety four.
I know, she says on a moan.
What can we do but wait? she asks.
Wait until the day I may
Get a cold
Or fall
Or fail to eat food;
Wait til all my systems slow
And I no longer take deep breaths
But sleep and dream of your dad
And wait til he holds out a hand
To pull me from my bed so I can
walk with him
in a better place
than this one.
Then we’ll wait until you see him
So clearly, says I,
That I can feel him close too.
We’ll wait, I say, Together.
She smiles with her eyes closed.
