FLYAWAY

Photo by S. Auberle

If my mother returned this autumn day
I would wrap her in my arms
rest my cheek on her soft white hair
share my food with her...
this creamy slice of Fontina
a golden pear, a little red wine
and we would laugh and eat and drink
until it was time for her to return
to where she belongs now.
She would fly away, gently
as the silk of this milkweed pod
and a crow, awaiting
the crumbs of our feast
would bid her a fond farewell...

another poem from my forthcoming book,
"Something After Burning"