My mother died today
with all her wisdom
quiet strength
peaceful air she had about her
aroma of a Sunday after-preaching apple pie.
Air I never learned to breathe
her no-secret special recipe
I let it die with her today.
My mother died today
with all her gardens
rooted truth
dreams of honey-suckled butterflies.
I ignored them as she withered; left her vines untended
never asked about her scheme
or harvested her heirloom seed.
I let it die with her today.
My mother died today
with all her bounty
unseen depth
weeping warm and tainted seasoned tears,
my bottled blame buried in her poison-laden sand.
Tonight, the moon won’t harmonize
her once sweet turned mournful lullaby.
I let it die with her today.
And with labored groaning
weakened strength
no someone else there to hold her hand
or keep her azure eyes from turning suffocated gray.
My shirked responsibility
to what could have healed both her and me
I let it die with her today.
*Reflection on the human relationship with Mother Earth.