I wash my mother’s body
For the last time,
Comb what is left of her hair.

I talk about things
That just last week
Seemed essential.
Later,
Holding her in my arms,
I tell her I love her.

She listens, I know.
She no longer talks,
But she is my mother,
Still.

Much later ~
In the summer shadows
Between night and day ~
I wonder.
When was it last
I heard my mother’s voice?

How can it be?
I will hear my mother’s voice
No more.