Mum looks out of the photowallet

on a special day, specially posed,

a spray of flowers on an oak ashtray column

to one side,

her hands neatly folded on her lap

in that bloom of confidence

that says it's ok finally to be alone

as long as people still care

which of course we do and they do.

 

It sits in my shadow undefeated,

a beacon to light a corner.

It's not quite a shrine,

but has the quality that makes it deserving to be one.

Traditional homillies would say

they've met up on the other side,

but death may not be that simple.

Still, looked at from this side

or from any side,

it still shines, and that's good enough for me.