I just realized
I don’t know what your
Last words were

I wasn’t there
By your side to hear them
As you breathed your last

Covid intervened
On our plans for my trip
For your birthday

You were asleep
For your last few days
Morphine eased your path

I hope your words
Were good ones, like you
Of love and kindness

Probably thanking
Someone for a small gesture
That was your way

Or a prayer
Whispered gently
To the darkness

I hope your last words
Were soft ones, calm ones
Probably “I’m ready”

You’ve been gone
Two years now, Mom
And I miss you so

I wish I could have
Held your hand as you breathed
Your last

My last words to you
Would have been
I love you

Jennifer Gurney lives in Colorado where she teaches, paints, writes and hikes. She is a newly published poet with nearly 300 poems published in 2022 and 2023. Jennifer’s poetry has appeared in a variety of journals, including The Ravens Perch, HaikUniverse, Haiku Corner, Cold Moon Journal, Scarlet Dragonfly and The Haiku Foundation.