like slow moving fog low to ground
like stalking tiger with eye on prey
death comes to our elder
who does not summon it
wants nothing of its fangs
around the base of her neck
snapped in two by the force
of impact, quick in the jaws
of this enemy of life, death comes
wrapped in metal and speed
and too-slow reflexes
with fear and unanticipated
goodbyes to waiting kin
it was to be a different kind
of reunion, but death comes
inconvenient to plans
or expectations.
Rest, Mother. Rest.
Valerie Bridgeman
© September 6, 2013
For Betty Cummings, mother to many, including her firstborn son John Cummings; grandmother to many, including Catharine A. Cummings. Rest in peace; rise in glory.
No comments:
Post a Comment