Winter dawn and I open the window
overlooking the glacier on Mount Rainier.
A cloud settles over the peak as five does
circle in the clearing below me. Now,
my soul joins them in their prayer,
a dance of grief.
My morning sorrow rides an icy wind
and sails me to the edge of an ice cliff,
a vertical and eternal vision that flashes
death faces across the wall of ice.
Among them is my mom, she touches
my face like a tear.
Mother, a word carried by a glacial cloud,
and this morning, my knuckles store her pain.
Who will rub them with winter green?
She made that ointment and stored it
in a brown bottle with a red cap.
Chilled by a haze of sorrow, I watch the scene.
At her death bed, I slid hair out of her eyes.
They were open and brown. When they spoke,
they sounded sad as they said goodbye.
Today her ghost sways under the misty cloud
and icy wind as my soul continues dancing
through its grief.
