Last Night at Hospice

She puckered her chin,

clenched her lips,

in the normal routine

before she spoke.


Readying herself—

putting her face on.


But she was too weak to go any further.


Her eyes opened, and for a fraction of a second,


in a lucid way.


A way that forever questions

whether there was an understanding—

I was looking back.


She tried,

and I will never understand

how hard she did.

Until perhaps I find myself

on my deathbed.


But know that a mother’s love

need not be expressed


more so

than the puckering of a chin,

and opening eyes,

for a fraction of a second.

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