Seven years since your eyes <br />closed for the last time <br />forever. <br />Scrub clad in whites or greens, <br />they could not start your silent heart <br />though, oath-bound, they tried. <br />Finally, they let you go, <br />accepted your death. <br />Gone, you would not return <br />from that journey each must make alone. <br /> <br />I've sensed you since muted earth <br />rang upon your husk's metal house. <br />In dreams you've come & spoken to me: <br />solitary or with other family members <br />all dead like you. Our communication <br />seems clearer now than when we <br />shared our earthly bond. <br /> <br />My waking memory is not so vivid <br />as these dreams in whose confines <br />you are real to me again. <br />In night's silent cocoon, <br />I touch your face, <br />kiss your crinkled eyes, <br />& know once more your love: <br />your mothering touch <br />unsullied by the grave. <br /> <br />(rev.30 July 2005)<br /><br />Hugh Cobb<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/for-my-mother/
