On the demise of Mother. . . a rmembrance ongoing


On the Threshold of Death


She held me then
so many years ago
as I
a helpless child
peering into sparkling eyes
awaited life's great expectations.

Those early years
I followed not her footsteps
but the path she beat
with her raw hands
those bearing gifts of love and joy
with her bare feet
those pacing where who might employ
a caring nurse, a seamstress,
or one imparting private care
to those in wards on hospice floor
or waiting –
blinded, deaf, mute whispers of despair
echoing,
sound reflection,
panorama of their hopeless lives
painted brightly
colored shadows
left etched in breathless air.

She did not lead
but pointed clearly
to horizons far away
too late for her to seize
those Carpe Diem days
beyond her wildest dreams.

She could not read
but gave me nearly
all that she could clearly say
too soon for me with ease
these Carpe Diem ways
I grasp too late it seems.

I left that shaky nest
upon my own
uncertain quest
for life
for love
for peace
the quiet rest
and all the rest
beyond what she or I
had ever hoped to feel
beyond what she or I
had never thought to know.

Yet, she remained
a silent distant entity
innocuous
impervious
an angel ignorant
oblivious
to the wiles
winsome ways
of those
intent on her demise.

But, she prevailed
for nearly ninety years
all relatives long gone
long gone
long cold and dead –
but living in her head.

And in her current state
severe senility too soon set in
brain shrunken
body broken many times within –
without a common cause – caved in
by heedless age
by vicious rage of Fate
that called her many times
but left with empty shroud
to protestations all too loud
her screeching voice
left trailing in the wind.

The echoes still resounded through the house
strange ringing sounds,
her answering computer mouse,
as doorbells ring from either door,
she stumbling round, with TV loud
she talking to remotes
still lying on the floor
but no answers from either this or that,
or comments on the vicious cat
she claimed to just adore.

Now Father Time
seeks mother mine
relentless in his quest.

He wields his scythe
to slice her thread
to lay her life to rest.
His iron fists hold fast her heart
pound heavy on her heaving chest
wrench limbs apart;
his words, "Come forth,"
suck breath from 'neath each sagging breast,
cast spells and chills,
unstable spills
on unfamiliar floors.

Yet, she resists
more feebly than before.

In limbo now she lies in state
between the now and soon hereafter –
breath too soft
eyes filming, grey
awaiting, wondering
where she may lay –

I listen, hear her say:

"Where? Here? or home?
The place I stay
with son, my brother, father, too –
and you, dear nurse – and quite a few
of all my friends, both old and new."

Her rheumy eyes now vacant stare
at who I am or might have been
still dim, still quiet with a mother's care
for her dear son, her only living kin.

I hold her now
too many years since then
as she
a helpless child
staring at me with stone grey eyes
awaiting death's great expectations.





Poetry by NotaDeadPoet
Read 892 times
Written on 2007-01-09 at 19:53

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Indeed you have the rare gift of being able to express deep thoughts and feelings in a beautiful way! This poem is no exception: it witnesses of both heart and talent.
"She did not lead
but pointed clearly
to horizons far away
too late for her to seize
those Carpe Diem days
beyond her wildest dreams."
This stanza touched my heart in a particular way.
2007-01-10

Texts




Mother, hang up the MOUSE; the cat is DEAD!
by NotaDeadPoet