Transitioning from this life

Inks and gesso on gesso textured w/c paper, 10 X 11″

below the belt he slips it in
and my energy leaks out
into some soup where all thoughts go
to the business of comprehending
what does it mean
this, here today and gone tomorrow?

the one person left on earth
who has been there from
(my) beginning is waiting
to catch the boat across
and take the secret with her

i watch as she gets smaller and smaller
becomes a child again
now a baby curled up
with toes planted firmly

in those dreams floating
in the world underneath the mind
in the same dark and shiny cave as this elf
a Dobby with red eyes

he packs magic in his bag
but even he cannot predict
the exact moment when dear Ellen
will catch her boat

Have you guessed?  My mother is transitioning from this life, taken to her bed, not likely to rise again.  It feels BIG.  Not sad.  She’s a wise and wonderful 93.  Just BIG as in mysterious and requiring full attention.  Art helps.  It always does.  It meets the numinous on its own ground through metaphor and meaning, which is just out of reach of the logical mind, where it should be.