Second Sight

March 26, 1996|By Ellen Kirvin Dudis

Sometimes when the sky amasses black

and the storm's naked brains hang over our heads

in thick dark folds, a chance hole in the rack

opens, and pooling on the water far, far

out to sea, a distant reservoir

of light trembles, the cul de sac

of memory in my mother's mind.

How has it happened and what has she

felt the closer it comes? Imagine the dread

And, beyond us, the extraordinary

absence of rage! Deep in her drift, the baby

whose mother died, the child who cradled

herself, is once again at sea,

haunting echoes in my mother's mind

a lifetime later. This last light

of hers is all goodness, and still, still, we shred

the clouds around it, forcing second sight

-- so hard to let her go by giving in

-- the courage of oblivion

so quiet on the waters, white

as heaven in my mother's mind.

Pub Date: 3/26/96

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