14" x 17"
"Twas the night before my mom died, when all thro' her home.
Not a person was stirring,
not even a nome.
The pillows and blankets
arranged for her comfort.
In hopes she'd be safe, warm and not exscerted.
Her children were nestled,
round her hospice bed,
while visions of transitioning danced in her head.
And mom with her oxygen tank
still fighting to live.
We sang and we sang
til our mouths couldn't give.
I arose to the corner chair,
unable to function.
She opened her eyes and
summoned me with gumption.
In the midst of dying,
I was still her child.
She hugged me and
stared with begiled.
But the moon on the breast
of the new fallen snow,
let us know her time was short
and soon she would have to go."
Tasha Luccesini
