Mom's Passing

Mom’s Passing

Too late to receive the call,
I retrieve the message.
Mom is in the hospice.
She probably will not last the week.

I’d not thought about this expected call
These last few weeks.
Mom’s in comfortable storage,
Not part of my life.

One of Margret Sanger’s early clients,
Mom had opinions and desires,
Maintained her checkbook until 91.
Now at 99, long past her prime, she leaves.

Her body, or her ashes will go to Brooklyn.
To be buried next to Dad’s.
Maybe Maddy will visit the site once a year.
Perhaps I will too, but not for long.

Now no one will sit between me and death,
And whatever comfort she provided will be gone.
Perhaps my boys will come for the burial.
Their lives have other priorities.

She outlived herself these last years,
Saw little of life, and understood less.
I should get the picture for my office,
Mom holding a cigarette, though she never smoked.