I have participated in a summer reading group with a wonderful group of women for quite a few years now.  This year we are working through poems of Mary Oliver and the conversation is satisfying, helpful and honest.  This week’s poem led me to a line, ‘ How beautiful is her unshakeable sleep‘ that opened a gate to walk out my own poem in response.  I believe though, it is also because of the beautiful honesty of the women in this reading group, gifting me with the space to capture important heart moments.

She was

always concerned
about the way she looked,
every day of her ninety-one years,
until the stroke stripped
half her canvas,
rendered her
grooming hand useless.
And let’s be honest,
maybe everything
that was her
was damaged,
for sure affected – I
went to her, held on
to her hand; it was warm
and soft, (her skin
was always beautiful),
she held mine too –
that was real.

We all hoped
and searched for her
in her eyes, but instead settled
in the honesty of silence
for our final conversations.

After she fought through
they laid her among roses,
symmetry restored,
beautifully presented
as if to reassure me,
‘I made it back to myself.’

And that restored me too,
her last gift of courage.

So I stayed in the chapel
with my beautiful mother
as long as I possibly could.

© 2018 – Laurel Archer

Photo credits: Laurel Archer