Not knowing how to die is a Thing.
Sometimes it's Time and it still
Doesn't come.
Say goodbye on the phone 
Before it's Really Bad
Say we swam together
     and I love you
Say we went to the flower show 
     and I love you
Say you poured water on my head
     in the bathtub
     and my arms sprouted
     leaves and branches
     that reached for the sky
     and I grew grew grew
     and I love you
Say we love Each Other.
     We. Love. Each. Other. Very. Much.
Joke that you will bring me 
     with you
     so it won't be scary.
Be ready to do it again.
When it's harder.
And she can't remember where she lives
Where her furniture went
Why nobody's coming over.
Be ready to do it again.
     When she's weak. And doesn't
     remember your mom.
Keep your tears to yourself
     on the phone the nurse is holding
     and tell her it's ok to Go.
     - please don't go. but don't say that -
And don't stay there in Sorrow.
     Sorrow is the weather
     When Death doesn't know how to come.
     When shallowly she still breathes
          away from you
     And you Google How to Write an Obituary.
Outside on the porch the season is Spring.
The trees are a million fresh shades 
     of chlorophyll. 
The warm breeze is a million Springs. 
A million Easter Days Mother's Days Loving Days
     full of endless bowls of homemade pasta
     and tomato flowers
     bursting on the vine.
The Warm Breeze is the shallow breath
     and heart still beating.
The Warm Breeze whispers
     of the Process
of the sunny days in the garden
of the Sunday dinners
     and cake for dessert.
of the cigarettes snuck in the bathroom
     and end-less moments to 
     laugh and say bullshit and
     holler and say get in here and
     help with the Dishes forever.
Forever.
So why not now. Certainly now.
     While breath still persists 
          somewhere.
Conjure the Process in your 
     Witch's Heart and
Call into being the Chosen Times.
Reach for a smile that rages from 
your grief and ignite the spell.
And hold the Space.
     When you can.
     hold off sorrow because
     We. Love. Each. Other. Very. Much.
Not knowing how to die is a Thing.
A lonely punctuation of a 
     passionate and triumphant 
     essay.
A jubilant and tragic masterpiece.
A sorrowful and tender portrayal 
     of a little girl who survived 
     more than her share
Who grew and birthed a little girl 
     who survived more than her share
Who grew and birthed a little girl
     and set her Free.