70spoems/death*

ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY MOTHER’S DEATH

The deafening hush of
your Indian presence
is with me always. I move
in your shadow, as moon
to sun. Feel the t-shaped
strength up my back
mere derivative of your
inherited cross.
When intellect fails
genetic memory
counsels my movements
as seed sun signaled
will stir.
Long stilled I feel
your energy,
but now my therapist says
I do not have to live
out your existence.
He does not know
the undignified hospital death,
sufficient for women more frail,
a tyranny against life.
Strong-willed woman
bones sticking through flesh,
nurses jabbing your veins,
insulted you died for spite
and I live on to protest.

7/3/76