What I Think My Mom Is Saying

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.