Lana May

Last Warmth

My sister’s touch
awakens me from my
place of safety.
“Mommy’s gone…”

My eyes close
deeper, turn inwards
and around
before they open.

In silence we walk
through the space
that has forever

to my mother,
her face frozen
in her last moment,
her last moment

frozen in her body.
Four daughters,
Tretchikov Swans,
surround her,

hold her,
kiss her,
stroke her hair.
My mother is

still warm, the bed
is still warm,
this moment is still,

2 comments on “Lana May

  1. So much ‘unspoken’ emotion is captured in your poem. Our desire to hold onto ‘warmth’ when we’re faced with loss … having to let go. I found this a very moving poem.

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