The Solder of Limb Shade, remembering my mother, five years on

My mother is five years gone this day.  

Two years ago, I wrote this poem for her.  

It still belongs to her.


























The Solder of Limb Shade




Where you are is not

where you are,

beneath the granite bench

and the heart-footed deer,

under cover, under the solder

of limb shade.




You are not sunk you are not skidded past

by wind.

You are not level, rise, diaspora, root,

nor the chime, pretty as it is,

above the stone field and its tulips.

But once, in a restaurant,

they played your song,

and the house that I have built from
almost nothing

is hung about with birds.




You gave your final word

to me.

You said.

You are.[image error]