My Oxygen

Dying, precious time
elapsing, cooling,
mist rising, as the humid air cedes
to another dry winter’s day.

Confections captured,
preserved, yearning
for their savory freedom.
Just not now;
we wait.

Mother’s apron,
returned to the exposed nail,
hides in the shadow of the pantry.
A few of her canning jars remain,
still begging for service.

Hot tomatoes permeate
this dull kitchen,
salted away, as the red pots soak
in their frothy bath.

Clutching brown-stained mugs,
we stare out the windows at white,
remembering the industrious woman
who fed us long after parting.

We forget to listen
before the sweet harmony begins
with a single, tender metallic
ping!  Such soothing
unharmonious melody ensues.

Can you imagine?
Beneath the lid, being
that last molecule of air?
The last wisp of breath;
life exhaled before dying?

She was my oxygen.
Just one little molecule of air,
she put that there.
She gave me my first.
She gave me her last.

ID: 1170418   (Rated: E) Mother, My Muse  Poems and other works about the woman who inspired my vision to become a writer. by Brian Keith Compton

This poem is part of a collection available to ebook readers at the link below:

ASIN: B006PUZY78	Such Longing: A Poetry Collection     Product Type: eBooks
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