She is not there when I pick up the phone to call to chat about my day.
I fall asleep with my hand open, for she may grace me with her night-time presence,
A serenity of soul descends that lets my soft sleep come again.
When I put my feet in water, unwilling to dunk my head, I remember childhood.
She would dive into the waves like a nereid, as if her true self belonged to the sea.
I might cool off with a swim or ride a wave or sit among the wavelets,
She would take on the breakers with a laugh and surety, but never fear.
And now she is ten years gone, ten long years, she was too young,
At 73, she was too young, to have left us. We didn’t believe such a thing could happen.
Not to our mama, our life force, our joy, our strength, our rock, our ocean of love.
She told us she would be well soon enough, and perhaps, that is true ,
In the great beyond, she is well and strong and free.
I sleep with my hands open, I the prickly one who wouldn’t be hugged or fussed over,
I sleep with my hands open, knowing she will come to soothe the ragged hurts in me.