For years
I dreamed of pushing
with palms and soles
against the coffin lid.
Now I lay in the dark
under the wool blanket,
settling into a comfort,
imagining the feelings
of a mother’s warmth.
Being my own mother
has not been the same
as wanting to have one
that holds and loves me.
There is no more pushing.
I lay here and quietly listen.
f
Am still in bed at 11:16 AM, under the Pendleton blanket,
thumb tapping on my IPhone. Don’t wanna get up at all.