Letters to the World
12/7/19
I went to a poetry gathering the other
night, got invited to
a coffee bar to chill & schmooze.
I let myself
build up thrilled emotions,, intoxicant in
believing the rush–
INVITED socialization. Dangerous.
‘Cause it’s
apt to be thieved / my relief, by
Reality, & its rearing ugly head. These
are the most vicious, & true, the
stinging claws that get left in.
Even when we’ve met our end
we just seem to keep reach
out for invisible faces & the
people who’ve passed. I’m sorry-
that’s what the last
nurse said about my mom limp on her bed. I can’t get it out of my head.
Flutters//
are for butterflies, mother. Not your
eyes so quickly darting to focus but it’s impossible. Then stopping.
I hope you’re feeling okay.
We asked you yesterday morning, when we found you lost, but still
half responsive for a time. We asked you how you were feeling & you mumbled
around snores, “I
feel fine.”
Mother, I drew your rune stone today. I asked how you were feeling & in answer, I pulled the S stone. Or, Sowelu. The sun. // My mom is the light. She feels herself in the energy of wholeness at the moment though. Because her ego sleeps, she’s in a space where she knows she has succeeded, triumphed; raised 4 girls, & was a wonderful nurse, wife & person. She will be honored. She is a thunderbolt wheel of power with not physical health, no, but the soul is in tact. The soul is in health, the body was always temporary anyway. She has been strong. Her goal, as is all our goal, but just living, it has been realized. Her only job now is to relax & let her family love her.
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amberreneepoet 