My mother
by Shirley Gerald Ware

She is in and out of consciousness
As she lays motionless,  adrift in her bed
Her eyes in perfect focus.
As her children crowd her room
One by one they prey on her consciousness
Looking for the impossible
But knowing that she is suspended
In a galaxy beyond their reach.
“Mother”, they repeat in a soft whisper, 
“Do you know who we are?”
But their question hangs stagnant in the air
Her eyes maintain their focus
As she breaks into a soft song.
They search the faces of each other
Not knowing what to think.