Saturday, April 22, 2017


You said the poem was spectacular
then let me know

you would be going home
once more.

Your body’s failing strength
left only its mind's

clarity to return with,

which you did, offering

its spaciousness to others.
At the transfer station,

everyone clings to you,

but you no longer cling to anything

while everything about you

points beyond

to the Mother's final solstice
and her pairing of two cardinals.

I see the female first;
swooping in at my window

under the porch roof,
hovering mid-flight.

Then the exchange:
its mate, melodious,

his red headthe color of ribbon
poking out

from inside the center
of the wreath,

not to be removed, not yet.
Spring snows would fall,

and over the mountain
at Mad River Glen

I would drive past skiers
and cars with out-of-state plates,

as if shaving my face
for the first time in a month.

for Kathy Eldergill