Dancing with Alison
Your mother wit contends
with wishes for the kids
when you have gone away.
You squint against the blur
of all that might have been
and take my arm to climb
the slope behind the shed.
I move some clay and stone.
We pot the plants from friends
because, you say, someone
will see them bloom one day.
Our embrace is final, feral,
more support than letting go,
your frame a swaying lotus stem
bearing its enchanted blossom.
We stand, ungraceful dancers,
wait for God’s distant do-si-do
so you can whirl into heaven,
as I turn from your little-girl
grin and invitation to follow.
Your mother wit contends
with wishes for the kids
when you have gone away.
You squint against the blur
of all that might have been
and take my arm to climb
the slope behind the shed.
I move some clay and stone.
We pot the plants from friends
because, you say, someone
will see them bloom one day.
Our embrace is final, feral,
more support than letting go,
your frame a swaying lotus stem
bearing its enchanted blossom.
We stand, ungraceful dancers,
wait for God’s distant do-si-do
so you can whirl into heaven,
as I turn from your little-girl
grin and invitation to follow.
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