To say goodbye


I turned away from the window...

A tree which stood by the front fence
became an image

Of the very last time I saw my mother
in tears

The same tears I wore as a garment
for thirty-three years

Its leaves silently falling...

And I could not be certain
if my mother had no more autumns to give

Or if winter that year
would lay more than enough snow

On the long-dead bird
at the bottom of the garden