From where she lies
where she lies the view is lovely.
You can see the valley from here.
Beside her, carefully-chosen cards
don’t say Get Well Soon.
come and go, not
which goodbye will be goodbye.
For a few days she seems stateless.
The angels are checking her passport.
the necessary visa. Even here
she wears the bittersweet, regretful grace
of an ambassador returning home.
pain is nothing,
and now for her the world is nothing,
and from where she lies the view is lovely.
You can see heaven from here.
For my mother, Joan.
© Godfrey Rust 1995, firstname.lastname@example.org. See here for permissions.