Letting Go

Letting go. And she asked me, her head so small on the official, white pillow that had a blue stamp on in case someone wanted to steal the beddings… do you believe in God? Mother the old hardened communist asking me this. I saw in her eyes she wanted reassurance that this was Not the end that something beyond beckoned that her hard life had not been in vain. I´m a poet a teller of lies I told her a long story. At the end she smiled and said: Son, I have always loved you but I never knew when you you were telling the truth. She was at ease and when dawn came she silently slipped anchor and sailed away to a sea unknown, but I know I shall meet her there on Nirvana´s shore where love is a whispering ripple and and our life together be retold.