FOR MOM

Photo from photo booth.

An old poem from my book "Saturday Nights at the Crystal Ball,"
published by Cross+Roads Press,  2008

HOW DO YOU MEASURE LOVE?

By an old letter the color of tea,

a photo tucked in a drawer,

Mama's rose-covered Mexican shawl

saved to warm me for the day she'd be gone.

Spring is early this year,

the tulips she planted

beginning to emerge and

I dream often of her.

Sometimes she's pale and weak,

sometimes young, vibrant

and laughing.  We walk then,

Mama and I, as we once did

and I show her a crow's nest

high in the tall pine,

the white bones of a deer

returning to earth.

Outside dreamtime

the seasons turn.

They are no longer measured

by the size of my sorrow.