☀️ Staying Power #175: "Downed"

An original poem-in-progress

On Friday, after a sudden decline, my mother entered a memory care unit.

Across the country from her, my heart’s full of ache. My old mom has tumbled down the well of herself. I miss her. At the same time, though, my heart’s overflowing with gratitude that she’s now being cared for by professionals with tremendous skill, compassion, and warmth.

The day before Mom’s transfer, having just learned it was imminent, I took a walk. A few minutes from home, my way was blocked by a downed limb.

This poem began to form.

(Love you, Mom.)

DOWNED
Phyllis Cole-Dai

	          upon my mother entering the memory wing
	           July 26, 2024

A big limb’s come down.
Hit the ridge of a rock when she fell,
split into pieces beneath the tree.
I don’t know what did it.
Wind maybe, or disease.
Lightning would have left a scar.
The world has infinite ways to break us, 
fewer ways to mend.
We love, we love, we love again.

Her wood is still wet,
her leaves are still green,
her voice still singing that old song
about a life lived double,
belonging to both earth and sky,
shade for what dwells below,
shelter for what dwells up high.
A life of blending in,
wanting only to be another good limb.
Gravity took her down.
Now, the pain of lying
exposed and shattered on the ground, 
strangers tiptoeing all around her—

       O, who will come and harvest my pieces, 
       haul me away to a bed of dirt?
       Make short work of my heavy hurt?
       I’m meant to be done, and nearly ready.
       Tell the woodcutter come soon, 
       but not to hurry—

The Gentle Nudge

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