A poem, remembering my mother.


the still, small voice 

In the moments between–“I just can’t believe this.”
To live without –to live no longer.
When I am awake, my heart murmurs forward.
Then into slumber, I yearn to go back.
I rest upon the path forward.
I see holes you cannot fill.
My breath trembles–
You raised me to listen!
I have a hard time hearing for you make no sound.
Still, I am on the cusp.
You give me purpose– “You must heal.”
To ache.
“It’s time to go, Just.”
It’s time to go.