Asleep and not asleep
I try to make it to where you are
asleep and not asleep
in a cedar box
trying to move you
when I finally get up
my feet ache
and I remember pulling off
your gray socks
and rubbing the white balls
of your feet
(shaped by years
teaching in high heels)
before they got cold.
Your spirit left its house
and you are on a road
somewhere
heading north
to the lake
or south
to New Jersey
seeing the beauty
passing spring
leaving me to yearn
for company
sitting here
alone in tears
hoping you are happy.
How could the villagers of Sarashina
abandon their ageing mothers
among the rocks?
Dear Mary Jo,. Perhaps it is not abandonment among the stones to accept what is. The end of life's living journey. Wanda
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