Your mother
approaches her dying
in the early hours of the morning.
The hospital hush us away
from our all night vigil.
'She'll be fine... she'll be fine! '
'You must get some rest...'
Reluctantly... we...leave.
Travel tiredly home
in stunned silence &
the not knowing what to do.
The house is
as - we left it.
The curtains have not been drawn
upon the large French windows.
They frame the darkness
that looks in upon
the living.
I see all this
in the second
my fingers flick the switch
that floods the room
with light.
And in that instant of
an instant
your mother
(still in her little hospital shift)
dances like a little girl
(pushed on a nervous school stage)
from one curtain to another
smiling a mischievous grin.
I stand still
spell-bound.
From somewhere far away
you voice asks me:
'What's the matter...you
look like you've seen a ghost? '
I stand transfixed.
...not believing what I am seeing.
Just then
the phone rings.
It's the hospital
informing us
that your Mum
is..gone!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem