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letting go
Letting go.
And she asked me, her head so small on the official,
white pillow that had a blue stamp on in case someone
wanted to steal the beddings… do you believe in God?
Mother the old hardened communist asking me this.
I saw in her eyes she wanted reassurance that this was
Not the end that something beyond beckoned that her
hard life had not been in vain. I´m a poet a teller of lies
I told her a long story. At the end she smiled and said:
Son, I have always loved you but I never knew when you
you were telling the truth. She was at ease and when
dawn came she silently slipped anchor and sailed away
to a sea unknown, but I know I shall meet her there on
Nirvana´s shore where love is a whispering ripple and
and our life together be retold.
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