Elegy for My Mother

It was long ago,

When the gusts of April had yet to give way to the calm breezes of May,

and the sun was hanging down into the blue Pacific.

My mother stood on the promontory of the cliff overlooking the sea,

Calling me home, startling me from my child's wonder as I played along the

rocky shore below,

Entranced by fantastic tidepool creatures,

a boy's careless communion with the world.

I can still see her silhouetted against the evening sky,

Hear the gentle strains of her voice calling me back to the human,

the oft-repeated ritual of the family dinner,

the taken for granted routines that comprise the golden scrapbook of memory,

The frail universe of the family whose center was the warmth of my mother's shining

unwavering heart.

Often since then, dear mother, wandering among the lost,

I have sought solace in the wisdom of your voice,

have found strength an courage in your words,