Merging Whispers
by Odin Roark

Dampness invades graying hair
held tenderly in my right hand,
hoping the touch of my left upon her face
might vanquish the invading cold,
release the still clinging answer.

Reaching to caress my finger tips,
her waning breath evokes memories
so warm, yet so icy in their long storage.

Patience moves my palm upon her forehead,
awaiting conveyance finally of where I came from,
from whose womb did I birth, where,
why I’ve been made to live so many years without answers.

Eyes tearfully close on this once young mother
who delivered a still born so long ago,
suffering loss of voice,
loss of hearing,
shock’s slow process of recovery
delivering months of remorse
until…

Healing rose from an abandonment,
adoption of a week old child,
embraced by this suffering,
but tender surrogate,
warmly embracing me
as a motherless child.

Hers to care for.

Hers to raise.

“Love knows not boundaries,”
she told me so many years ago,
“but accompanies life
all the way to one's final breath.”

Now…

Gazing at her still body,
I remember those words,
when her gentle eyes
may have wanted to reveal the abandonment secret,
yet only a kaleidoscopic blur did our eyes exchange,
perhaps a delayed transcendence
for this day,
this moment.

How precious this wilted body before me,
this woman who became an infant’s light in the dark
whose memory soaked clothes I will now fold
arrange and….

Birth’s bedside light dims.

A dying mother,
a grateful son,
accept unanswered questions in silence,
their guiltless hearts sharing smiles and whispers
to merge quietly into her final breath.