Syllabics for My Mother

…………..Your moan, the music of the old country,
your breathing evil in its staccato

…………..taunt. How father haunts the eucalyptus
of the fourth floor window. Miraculous

…………..the heart continues though the rest shuts down,
the body contemplating afterlife

…………..and its many-splendored topographies.
Die if you must. Leave if you really can’t

…………..hold conversations, shred historic maps,
pray with anger, gasp, kneel horizontal,

…………..whatever works, look, it’s not that different
than what you imagined and all is free.

…………..On the wipe-off board the word companion
to alert the staff this woman wants friends,