Twigs

I collect them

Underfoot, crunching

Or dangling, near my ear

Bent, snapped,

eager, searching

Woody twigs—off shoots

Like the tiny veins

On my mothers

Dying hand

In mine,

Searching eagerly

For what’s next

Fractured, frail

For signs of life

For Signs of leaving

I build a nest

Twigs, faded leaves

Tufts of moss

Like my cupped hand here

Without my mothers

Eager, Searching

For life affirmation

Bent, snapped

with grief’s recoil

I collect them

Twigs

Small branches, sprigs

Like the tiny neurons

In my mothers

fading brain

Bent,Snapped,

eager, searching

For a way through

the darkness

To find what’s next

To perceive the light

I build a hollow of

Twigs, off shoots

Stems, Weave them

Crooked, pliable

To honor my bereaved heart

Searching, snapped

Eager, bent

In the hallow of life

In love within the leaving

Like the rivulets, streams

Rivers branching, twigging

On their return to ocean

I am twigging here—

what I could not have known

Without my off shoots reaching,

rooting in the darkness

Bending, breaking, weaving

Searching, veining, snapping

Eager for life, until the ending

To find what’s next

To perceive the light

Beyond my understanding

I Collect them

Twigs, found in my path

Twisted, unfurling,

in my palm, pressing peace—

As if I hold the hand of

the Great Mother,

The one who

never let’s go

WithIn the living, loving, leaving