​

​On the Tide of her Breathing
 
At the end of her long life, as I sit with her, 
hand her water glass, spoon applesauce, 
she protests, "You're doing too much, "
so  I say, "how many times did you do this
 
for me when I was sick?" remind her how when
I had a cold she brought French toast on a tray
Now, we speak of old boyfriends, hers and mine,  
which one I should have married,

remember her two husbands she loved, 
the bright eyes of my newborn daughters, 
when first she held them. Implicitly,
all is forgiven, 

old battles, mistakes, are carried out to sea
on the tide of her shallow breathing
and love comes back like glistening stones
washed up on the shore.

**
Published in ​Cape Rock Magazine April 2019