Dead Mothers

Here's what I know
you cannot lose a mother at the cemetery.
She catches a ride back to the reception,
listens to every word said, standing
against the wall because standing is good
when there are not enough chairs,
notice who is having another highball,
reminds you about the coffee, reminds
 you when everyone is gone.

You will see her in your dreams, but also
in your kitchen peering into your spice cabinet,
your oven that needs going over.
You find yourself singing
a song long out of mind, her song.
You feel her nudge you back
from the edge of curbs
and rash moves.

Leave a rocking chair empty and sooner or later,
it will move gently back and forth.
When you are troubled, sometimes
a hand smooths your forehead
and you sigh, forgetting for a moment
that you are alone, or think you are.
Walk in the green fields on a soft day
and listen.  Hers is the voice your hear
calling you home.

Dolores Stewart - thank you for your book "Doors to the Universe"
and giving me permission to share your poems....