Full circle

In the forgotten and remembered past,
in the half light, landing-lit,
so many hundred times
we kissed a soft goodnight
and wished sweet dreams.
You always asked me
not to close the door.

Now in the half light,
your bent body shrouds me.

The sheets are fresh,
sweet-scented, tight;
and if I lie still
there is little pain.

When you, my daughter,
have gone downstairs
I will weep, and hurt,
but not complain.

You know this, though your words,
not knowing, are echoes
of my own: just yesterday's,
it seems, but counted
nearly thirty years.

Sleep was what I wished
for you, my child,
as I enclosed another day,
gazed down at your sweet pillowed face,
and felt the pain of love
with such fierce force.

Now sleep is what you wish
for me: I feel your lips
on my cool forehead.

The half light tries to hide your tears;
I catch one falling from your eye.
Wishing me sweetest dreams,
and saying goodbye.

______________

Published in Nutshell magazine, March 1992