Napping
 
My mother, who had walked six miles,
six days a week for years, knew
that her life was ending.  One day she smiled
at me and said, “I’m not in the mood
 
for walking today.  I think I’ll take
a nap instead.” She never napped
before lunch.  But how else could she say
it?  All morning she lay wrapped
 
in an afghan on the sofa, her eyes intent
upon a pattern taking shape in the air.
I cleaned her kitchen, my diligence
a substitute for grieving and a kind of prayer.
 
She didn’t tell me not to:  adrift, serene,
quietly dropping the reins of her routine.

—from The Golden Hour (2006)

 

 

The Golden Hour (Autumn House Press, 2006)