Where

Sweet Mother, “Where are you”? I ask each day. I know about the cemetery, stone, and vault. But where are you, where does your spirit stay? Where is your tenderness that knew no fault? Yes, I understand, the casket lid was shut tight. But where rests love unrestrained that I knew? Where is the softness that made everything right? Where is the warmth I felt through and through? True, your obituary clearly told of your leaving But that was an obligation to social convention. It is for the essence of you that I’m still grieving. There must be a sacred place in this dimension. Sweet Mother, “Where are you”? I ask each night. Where are the laurels you lavished on your son? Where is your assurance we were alive in holy light? Your body is empty, but heaven’s answers will come.