her chair

 

 

 

 

 

very sick, my mother spent the last few months of her life in a nursing home.  each time I’d visit I’d find her propped up in a chair by the nurse’s station.  one day I asked “what are you doing out here, mom?”

 

  “I’m waiting to buy my ticket,

so I can get on the train.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

release

 

 

 

 

 

she strained to hold on to the good parts
when the not-so-good parts were hard to shake off

 

 

 

 

 

 

and rowed him softer home

 

 

 

 

the old birdhouse was stuffed with sticks and feathers
at first glance she thought it was a dried milkweed pod

how fragile
this baby wren

she gently cradled him in her hands
and placed him on a branch
where he had room to spread his tiny wings
and fly home

 

 

 

 

 

the tear catcher

the tear catcher

“No truth can cure the sorrow we feel from losing a loved one. No truth, no sincerity, no strength, no kindness can cure that sorrow. All we can do is see it through to the end and learn something from it, but what we learn will be no help in facing the next sorrow that comes to us without warning.”

~Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood