Mom

the angel of death 

she flies in the spring

she smoothed your furrowed brow 

with a brush of her wing

together you soared on a final exhale

pierced the sky

and transcended the veil

were you the owl last night in the garden?

insistently hooting 

and offering pardon?

Then into electric thunderstorms

and by morning light 

you were fully transformed

your pieces spiraled gently back to the earth 

like cherry blossom petals fresh with rebirth

my heart at once broken 

but also relieved

earned passage upon 

the good ship bereaved

I'll see you in every fluttering wing

and roses pink with thorns that sting

when brush takes water and pigment to paper

when ocean waves crash

and send up their vapor

in wind chimes that tinkle to summer's  breeze

in everything living and true if you please

the angel of death

she flies in the spring

and takes you to heaven on her supple wing

Mom with my two sisters...years before my birth