Silent, Like Sleep
Within the depths of my dreams lies the comfort
found in my mother’s arms, the same offered
in return, no words needed, when she was in need
in the last years of her life. While no soul is
ever truly silent, hers was gentle to the end,
and so she appears in my dreams.
The short poem is my response to Twiglet #227 from Misky, which offers this line as a prompt: “silent, like sleep.” Unable to adequately care for herself, my mother lived with me for the last two years of her life. Although it was a difficult time, I don’t regret a moment of it.