In memory of Evelyn Culp, my mother who passed from this life 6/10/05

On the day you died
at last we met
in a small dark room
with cool marble floors
perhaps only six feet apart
if we had both just stretched
out our arms, our fingers
would have touched
There was a door behind you
There was a door behind me
The only light a tall white
candle between us
flickering bright, the only warmth
in the room from its orange and
red hue
We did not speak
as seemed to be our custom
I studied you
You studied me
in the candlelight one moment
you looked young and beautiful
the next old and tired
I held a fragrant white rose
in my hand
why won't my arm lift to give
it to you?
you look down and notice it
you look back up at me
with no expression
I feel a hot tear hit my cheek
it slides past my lips and
falls onto the rose
Then you raise your hand to
the candle and cup the flame
and before I can say, "Wait!"
you blow the candle out and
I know you are gone
I stand alone in the darkness
the rose falls from my hand
and silently hits my foot
The door behind me opens
There is no sound
but a sudden warmth
a sudden embrace
there is light
My friends surround me
I turn and walk out the door
never looking back
the smell of smoke lingers
the white rose lays abandoned
I forgive you, but will not forget
you may not forgive and choose to forget
unsettled business
I think no more
I choose not darkness, but light
may you find the light you seek...