Elegy for Suzanne Nash Gurin

A Week after My Motherʼs Death


1.

I was holding her hand (but did she know). I could no longer ask her permission
to adjust her pillows. (The fish had electrified themselves,
they could feel each other, they could feel me enter the surf.)
I remember gasping


             I remember a long pull of breath—
                          long draw followed by two short ones,
                          then a quietening,
                          then a surprised sound—


2.

it was the river in winter the river
in winter
the hills
with snow the
long dune the
silk tassel


the winter
we took for granted
all these things rolled
around in my memory
how her jade ring
turns on my finger


the moon the comets the tide
bloated
up the shore


the moon the tide the comets


unnoticed


barely mentioned


the moon I tried to stay awake for


3.
This is a premium subscription story. Please make a $4 donation to access the individual story or a $50 donation to access all the stories in Narrative Backstage for a period of one year.

If you are already a user, but not yet logged in, you may login here.
If you are new to Narrative, signing up is FREE and easy.
The password field is case sensitive. Account & Password Help.