This is the parkÂ
Where death cameÂ
To sit with me.
Â
Wearing her short,
White lace summer dress,
And very funky boots.
Â
Young; beautiful; fresh.
I asked her:
“Why the deception?
Â
Why can’t you teach us,
Beforehand that
Death carries beauty?”
Â
Three weeks ago,
My mother died.
Â
It’s a wonder
How comfort arrives:Â
From what source?
Â
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.
Â
My mother’s love
Has been returned
To the immanent vastness
Of Shekhinah:
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.
