Sasser's Reward

I left you with only a quick kiss, never dreaming it was the last time
your failing eyes would see me smile.
I believed I had saved you once more,

bought another week, or month, or year to hold you close and listen to your heart
I know your life had become less vibrant than it had been
before the years crept up and stole your strength
Some days you peed yourself, got lost in corners, barely ate
But even on the bad days, you curled beside me and tipped
your gray beard up to lick my face.

And so you waited, not able to free your soul from your failing body
until my arms were no longer wrapped around you.
"A whimper," your Daddy said. "He told me it was time with a whimper."
So it was your Daddy who sat with you and stroked you gently
as your soul slowly separated from the body that had been through so much pain.
"Tell Mama I had a good life and I love her."
You spoke the words clearly, in a species-neutral language every soul can understand.
And then you left us to join your friends who'd already made the journey
to wait until the day your Daddy and I finish our work here and join you.

Lessons from My Mother
by Rachelle Reese

You taught me to find magic
in the white narcissus growing
miraculously from marbles
and a puddle of water in a glass bowl.

You taught me to see beauty
in the brilliance of roses
and the tiny hummingbird
hovering close to sip the nectar.

You taught me to hear music
in the cadence of words,
read lovingly aloud from the
well-thumbed pages of storybooks.

You taught me to know love
as a caress, soft as cashmere,
as a pillow when life is hard,
and as a bond, resilient as steel.

The Dogwoods

The Dogwoods
by Rachelle Reese

A flurry of blossoms
stagger through the winter bare oaks
dogwood white, harbinger of green
petals glow luminous salmon orange and violet
as the sun sets one last time
before the oak leaves open
and engulf the dogwood pearls
in an emerald tidal wave

Eternal Pride

Eternal Pride
by Rachelle Reese
Proudly you parade your newborn child
past the grave of the man who raised your mother from a calf.
You never knew him, having entered the world nearly
one year after he was buried in the field he cleared by hand.
But somehow you seem to know that your firstborn calf is strong because of him,
so you turn your head toward his rocky mound and give him thanks.

Ode to the Daffodil Planter

Ode to the Daffodil Planter
by Rachelle Reese

Nearly a century has passed
since you kneeled in the mud,
skirt draped loosely across your ankles
to plant six daffodil bulbs,
bought dearly with the blackberry preserves
you sealed on an outdoor fire.
Could you have known the joy
those sunny flowers would inspire
in two accidental passersby?