Mom is Dying

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
About how I dealt with mixed feelings regarding my mom's passing.

Submitted: January 03, 2019

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 03, 2019




Mom is Dying


I did not mind

The refusal of her essence

In being out of my limb

Miming better than any timing


Tomorrow I’ll regret today

Just as in the interim

I crossed the cosmic rim

Seeming to grasp the meaning

Too far from three thieves

Far from braving the nailing


So my mom is maybe dying?

So my wind is maybe dead?

Winded and knocked free of glooming

And just assuming her assumption

Into frozen winter drear?

Oh dammit, oh dear


My mom is dying

To meet this saint

Got all gussied to beat the band


With stigmata in hand, she launches

Into orbit around my senses

What I know of her

What I knew of her

What can I say to have ever

Known of my mom?


That I called her “mater”?

And bummed seven thousand dollars

Off her

That I bummed her

That I drummed her out

Of being my mom?


Can I just say, this is

The finest way of putting

What I never could before

So this door has stopped creaking

Finally stopped

And the doorman turns and snickers


Shall I tell her there is no

Saint, there’s only the wait

Then you’re done?

Only, just wait,

Until you’re gone

No play on words

A game of death, came and went

I spent the whole time reading the rules


And now my mom is



And I’m here

And she’s there

And there are miles and miles


Of hours and years

Spent wondering why

She ever could have loved

Me, when I bummed her out


And my siblings snubbed me

And what I had to say for myself

Could not have been stated clearer

Than when I tore up her garden

And Jen and I planted flowers

Not very deep into the earth


Yet deeper than I’d been

With her in years, her son

Uprooted and weeded out

For years, for decades


I was there

She was there with me


I know she is dying

But not here

Not here.

© Copyright 2020 shabbycurragh. All rights reserved.

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