When A Mother Dies

We Strip the Careworn Dead Their Mortal Coil

We lave their toiled hands,

Their knobby feet,

Their centers and extremes.

We lay them flat

In underground and secret passageways

to Heaven’s scroll-worked gates.

We bless and praise them in our tears.

We brush the wood encasement with

Messages posting to God above

Even as

We bury them below

(a convoluted path to Him indeed.)

 

Our last dance one single step again

(We dreamed this all before

And will once more.)

~ Carol Borsello 2/23/17 (6:43 a.m.)

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