This is the park
Where death came
To sit with me.
Wearing her short,
White lace summer dress,
And very funky boots.
Young; beautiful; fresh.
I asked her:
“Why the deception?
Why can’t you teach us,
Beforehand that
Death carries beauty?”
Three weeks ago,
My mother died.
It’s a wonder
How comfort arrives:
From what source?
In the middle of a Netflix series
Where the protagonist
Continues conversations
With her recently deceased father,
At the times of his choosing,
It swaddles me.
My mother’s love
Has been returned
To the immanent vastness
Of ShekhinahThe feminine name of God, expounded upon in the rabbinic era and then by the Kabbalists in extensive literature on the feminine attributes of the divine.:
That of all our ancestors,
And of all our relations,
All of that love
Gathered under Her wings,
Where I can nestle,
Until it’s my turn,
One small feather
To take flight.
