My mother has been gone now for over eight years. But she lived a good long life. She was 94 when she died. I wrote the first two poems when she was in very ill health during her last year. I wrote the last poem after her death. Some mother-daughter relationships are tough. I know mine was. But even now, I few days early, she is on my mind. Rest in peace, Hilda. You deserve it. Dream World I look toward my mother's bed in its sunny spot by the window. The young nurse with her is smiling. They both are. She lies in bed, the light blue hospital gown she's wearing has a tiny geometric print of triangles, squares and circles in shades of gray, burgundy and a dark blue. Her pinkish skin looks healthy, and her thin, white hair is brushed off her face. After the nurse leaves, she looks at me with wide, bright eyes and asks, Do you want to play bridge? We need a fourth. I haven't played in years," I say and she accepts that excuse, pointing her long painted … [Read more...]