My Mother Is Throwing Out Death Poem by Faith Wood

'sweep over me with a broom, '
you whisper so softly.
'Gather me up and pour me
into a bag you leave in the foyer.'

And when the bag gets full,
tie it tight with a yellow ribbon
like some sort of present
and throw it into the trash.

I've never seen a can so full
The brim is overflowing,
spilling over with the contents
of years gone by.

And as the garbage men pull you away,
you hum a kind of melody
It sound like 'my mother is throwing out death'
Disposing of a love and a loss.

Riding on the back of the truck,
the men hear the rythem of the motor
It sounds of 'my mother is throwing out death'
Disposing of time and waste.