a poem...

That Bed
my mother's bed was my center
a haven from nightmares,
a stage, a chapel, a palace,
a figate bringing me to imagined shores
with sails of cotton
and decks of down

it was my liberation
a platform for debate
battleground, confessional, and penance
a reluctant deliverance
from past ideals
and liquid dreams

that bed was a jumbled storage space
a table for an artist in confinement
knitting, beading, sewing
a cluttered hope
that energy is stronger
than cancer's weight

that bed was a singularity
streching time, pulling us in
a prision, a clinic, a hateful reminder
of an icon fading gracefully
a desperate prayer
through pain to peace
my mother died in that bed