I sat in an avacado kitchen of decades past
A brilliant Pacific sunset framed behind her
Her aura angelic and pure, kindness and compassion
Hair silver, never seen in that kitchen
A wrong note in an otherwise perfect performance
‘Mom, you can’t be here,’ my dream self told her
“I know, Susan’, she replied. ‘Just know – you don’t have
to do anything about those people.’
Pausing in deep reflection on the many possibilities
Hidden in her words, unable to select one
I finally replied, ‘No, you’re right. I really don’t.’
‘I love you, Mom’
‘I love you, Susan.’
