I searched her face for it,
in her eyes that had seen
a spectrum of scenes over years,
her brow which she could have bent,
signaling absolution, but she didn’t.
The last thing she gave was a reluctant smile,
so I thought maybe she’s coming round,
but before I could sit, listen
as she told me again to toughen up,
to always hold my head up high,
in this world of vultures, redemption, sin
before I could talk to her of mistakes
and regret, her soul fled.
She died at night, a woman
who could command the attention
of any room, at the end laying cowered,
alone on the ground, taking with her
any possibility of peace between us.