Poetry by Jennifer Lagier

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Meditation

"She sits there in what is left of the light." - Francine Witte

During her final weeks before painful transition,
Mom sat by the living room window,
watched tiny birds as they picked at seeds
my cousin stuffed into a hanging nylon stocking.

This morning, hummingbirds cling to oak limbs
in our scarlet flowering front yard,
watch through rain streaked glass
as I meditate, assemble fruit smoothies.

I wonder if wrens and bright-eyed sparrows
carry souls of prematurely lost loved ones,
spontaneously appear when needed to reassure
sagging spirits of despondent survivors.

May 2024

 

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