Mothers

Below a cloudless blue sky
Which mother shall I now remember?
Eternal nurse or unpaid maid
Full-time cook or part-time teacher
Giving advice, not always sought,
But, usually, wise? Or the stranger
On an alien water-bed
Who, out of reach of God, son, and doctor,
For forty-seven days struggled to die? I silently repeat
The cross-legged wisdom of the priest
And the cupped stream in my palm
Blesses the leaf upon the sand. I shiver
Bare-chested, balancing myself, knee-deep
And place the mud urn upon the clear water –
In the chanting of the lapping ripples
And the patience of the crows, I discover
The suddenness of the final loss-
I shut my eyes and feel the moving river
Moving me beyond the endless flow
I feel the sunlight on my back
And I let my mothers go.