mom,
one dayday unknown, but known to be,
I’ll have to hear your laugh in the crowsand smell your skinin the wet bark of a tree,
the leaves rattle.they used to breathe so softly small rises and falls with wind song. so full of moisture, vitality, promise so unknowingof the inevitable stiffness but the stiffness has come. a rickety racket their bodies noisy now drainedof all moisture bent and hunchedover when a foot meets they cry a crinch-not a woosh- then…