The Last Poem About My Mother: A Poem by Abigail Weathers

Kitchen counter, sink, stock photo by Jim DiGritz from Unsplash
Photo by Jim DiGritz on Unsplash

The Last Poem About My Mother

That Sunday dress drifts
in peaceful, paisley grace
towards the kitchen. Contends
with the view—this bare window
so far from Heaven. It rests
its elbows, swirlings of purple
and of blue, upon the countertop.
Examines the sink’s cracked corner
of white tile. Turns on the water
—rushing, rushing, rushing—
Remembers the sound its own mother made
as she lay rattling

her breath
like a bell
the incoming tide.

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