on my sickbed
by Wilda Morris

            beginning with a line by W. S. Merwin

over my shoulder my mother’s voice
almost forgotten

my hot forehead longing
for the touch of a cool cloth
in her gentle hands
the offer of cold water

and songs
soothing as only a mother’s voice can be

if I could sleep
perhaps I could see her face
looking down on me

and hear the lyrics of her love



 

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