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Lloydene F Hill

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Articles
· Problem Solving, Or The Day My Septic Tank Raneth Over

· The Maverick Daughter

· Learning Styles

· Technology and the Classroom

· Which Ethical Theory Is Best

· Wounded Woman: A Discussion

· Alternative Educational Models for Native American Students

· Pedagogical and Andragogical Learning

· Biotechnology and the Conscience of Man


Poetry
· The Path

· Magic of the Mystery

· Animal Caged

· The Eye of the Storm

· Reflect

· Sunshine

· Joy

· Machine vs Man

· Tribute

· Andy

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  Mama's Spirit Smoke
by Lloydene F Hill
Friday, October 10, 2003
Not rated by the Author.

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Recent poems by Lloydene F Hill
•  Monkey
•  Sneaky Pete
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•  Midnight Madness
           >> View all 32



She lays there in the dim light, the oxygen pump
the only thing breathing in the room. I should turn it off I know, but I can't seem to make my body move from the doorway.

One eye closed, another barely open, vacant, unseeing, the light faded to black. Her lips pursed as if ready to take a drag off that last cigarette, and her head cocked slightly to one side as if laughing one last time at the world.

Her granddaughter, my child, without tears, stares in disbelief nudging me into movement, what seemed like hours were actually seconds, and I moved silently to the machine and flipped the switch, the room now eerily silent.

I  touch her head, as if touching a child, and remove the tubing from her nose, closed that barely staring eye, pulled the covers up to her chin, as if to tuck her in one last time, and kissed her cool waxy cheek, closing the door as I leave to make the calls I've been dreading for months.

Everybody has been called, it's late now, where are the body snatchers, it seems like hours since I called the funeral home, it has only been ten minutes. My child is leaving, friends have come for her, kissing my cheek she hurriedly apologizes for the grief and fear that is forcing her out of the house, as she dashes out the door.

How ironic, this should happen tonight, tomorrow's my birthday, perhaps she planned her last departure this way.  Her small house seems to echo as I walk around, it has never felt so empty, and neither have I, now that those who made me have both gone.

I look down the short hall, the closed door beckons me, I move slowly toward it, my hand turns the knob, as it swings open, the faint smell of a cigarette, sound of a pull tab, and that familiar giggle invades my head. Then a knock at the front door breaks in, the body snatchers are here. As I turn to go, a smile crosses my lips, small tears well up, closing the door I realize it's only Mama's spirit smoke letting me know she's happy.

2003 Lloydene F. Hill
 




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Reviewed by Flying Fox Ted L Glines
Being part Yaqui, your title caught my attention and I am glad it did. Very well written heart/spirit stuff. And you are right -- she's happy!

Ted
Reviewed by Dawn Mullan
I understand and appreciate this poem more then you'll ever know. Thank you for posting this poem, DL Mullan
Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner
o, this one touched my heart--well done

i'm saving this one to my library--very visual, heartfelt write

(((HUGS))) and love,

karla. :)
Reviewed by Taylor Trenton (Reader)
This is excellent.
Reviewed by Lisa Hilbers
Been there, done that. Too many times. I swear those folks from the funeral home stop for coffee somewhere on the way.
You've managed to give back a spark of life to this rather solemn subject matter. Greatly penned. Lisa
Reviewed by Jim Dunlap
Very well done. Good job.
Reviewed by Janet Caldwell
Touching and wonderful, you get better all the time my friend.

Love, Janet xoxoxo
Reviewed by Bonnie Torrente
A very touching story and a little humor too!
Excellant write Loydene.
Bonnie
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Poems in times of grief by Audrey Coatesworth

A book of 82 poems to be read in times of grief, all written by retired psychiatrist Dr Audrey Coatesworth..  
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