When my mother died, she got such a look of peace on her face,
I had just signed the order to turn off the machines,
that prolonged the inevitable,
and then she transformed from a warm, but stiff weary countenance,
to a somewhat raptourous expression so beyond beautiful.
I bent to kiss her goodbye, her cooling forehead bittersweet on my lips
and my keys fell, just behind the hospital bedboard,
I squeezed her hand one last time, and then bent to get them,
and that's when I found the most perfect white feather
about 7 inches long lying spotless on a smudgey floor.
I never found out where it came from, but I have my suspicions,
and she'll tell me someday.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Artis
A contest entry
- feather by Utok Bulinaw.
410 points, ended January 10, 2008, 14 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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you captured that moment for ever in your words.although there is no use of rhythm and rhyme there is such honest feeling and tenderness behind your words this si more than mere prose.
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Wonderful details in this one. I like the storytelling voice here and the touch of mystery in the ending lines. Thank you for entering.
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Just beautiful,
Angels are always there!
Lovely story.
Dolores xx
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