Mother, Edith, at 98

by Michael Lee Johnson

In a nursing home
blinded with
macular degeneration.

I come to you,
blurred eyes, crystal mind,
countenance of grace.
Like yesterday’s winds
I have consumed you
and taken you away.

“Where did God disappear to?”
you murmured
over and over again
like running water
or low voices
in prayer:
“Oh, there He is,
angel of the coming.”