There is a walnut tree between & over the "lab" where I do sleep, eat, meditate and here "my office" I can see it out the window as I write, leaves bright and green still growing This spring many branches had no leaves at all I thot "they want pruning before they break & fall heavily on my roof." Then weeks went by & tiny budding leafs appeared much smaller on some ancient branches some branches are still bare and I thot this is like my Mum: her limbs no longer flow with life force its movement is restricted in her limbs and mind not yet quite ready for the final pruning death but approaching relentlessly that inevitable growth and in the process she eats less and less her body has no place for nourishment she moans when even one more bite of asparagus proffered on my fork is too much for her restricted limbs and mouth to take in her moans are her communication: "I wrote a living will; let me not be fed beyond what I can handle "when there is no room or energy to take in even one more bite "so be it for the tree of life is past the time of nourishment "and quietly with dignity this soul craves its peace in that new and ancient home beyond the aging walnut tree "in that soft and blessed place that is our greater Home." So I welcome her little moans as her reminder that physical food no longer has its place the food she needs and still drinks in deep is what we each do crave and do deserve: simply love in that may we let her steep there her love to keep Love Tonia
:: bio ::
Antonia Mills currently teaches First Nations Studies at UNBC. She is the mother of four young adults and has three wonderful grandchildren. This poem was written to her brother John; their Mother is now 89 years old and content but declining.
:: close this window to return to stonestone ::