My girlfriend, telling of her mother’s
last moments, describes the gaunt
frame they prop on pillows in the living
room, windows they slide open to a view
of mountains behind a curtain of gold leaves.
The cancer has chiseled her features close
to bone, but still she struggles to listen.
Hearing is one of the last senses to go;
and so they shush the relatives
that have come to start chants of ritual
mourning at her side. A son-in-law
slides a bow across a halting serenade
of viola strings. Grandchildren whisper
in her ear, urging her to the crossing.
And at the end, my friend swears
there is a split-second glimpse of wisping
breath— leaving the white-throated body
behind, slight tear like a wing in the air.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
I love how you transmogrified those white-throated sparrow songs (which are, of course, very sad-sounding).
refracting images, and a tender presence.
Beautiful!
Luisa, This is a lovely description of something familiar to me. I have also had this experience. At the time of a death, something lifts away.
Thanks, everyone… It’s been tough finding untrammelled time lately, to come to VN to write (we had the week-long ODU Literary Festival last week, and then guests at home for 4 days since Saturday). So hectic! And therefore I am doubly glad to be writing here.