Last Image of Mom
by Diane Webster

She lies immobile
on her back
on the bed…
like Christ crucified,
and she taps her forehead
with her still active
right hand and demands
to know why God
has struck her with this stroke.
I have no answers for her.
I have no answers for us.
Perhaps now she and God
can discuss it,
or perhaps with death
the revelation is as simple
as a dandelion fluff
floating along the breeze
until a different field
offers itself to new roots.

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