On a mother's perception of her child's perception of death

This endearing post by a mother inspired the below. She lifted up her little head, Looked up at me like never before, “Mommy”, she said, “if you get dead, Then I won’t have a Mom anymore.” My heart leapt up into my throat, My heavy hands dropped to my knees, I strove to catch up and devote My mind to say something with ease. But speechless was, and stayed that way Until I said “Who told you that?”, And thought in vain what to convey In words to my precocious brat. I could have said so many things, So many things about death, to see ‘f She’d comprehend the peace it brings, As does pain’s companion, relief; That death completes all we begin; For every kiss upon on her face, And every time I cradle her chin, And every warm and snug embrace, There is a kiss yet to be planted, A cuddle her chin has yet to feel, A warm, snug hug yet to be granted Through an application of death’s dark seal. “I made it up myself”, came the response, And I, by now, had had enough; She went back to her squiggly fonts, I, to my laundry, and other stuff.

Upon seeing a drop of water on my windshield

I see you form a lens on my windshield As I stop at a red light, Lone clear drop of water. A few of your companions fall around you, But you have captivated my interest: A perfectly round drop of water Deposited by your angel escorts Upon my windshield. Have you memories, water drop, Of your past descents, each ending a cycle That all began with glorious creation itself? Have you memories? Were you amongst the drops that swallowed up The world of Nuh? Or did you land upon his strong and noble shoulder, And stay there for a while? Or were you a drop that clung to the hair of Jonah As he came to his senses in the repulsive darkness? Did you slide down his cheek and mix with his tears As he turned in humility to his, and your, Master. Or do you trace yourself to a proud parentage Of one that sprung from the muddy heels Of Ismaeel, as he lay on his back, a crying infant? Did you quench his thirst, and make his dear mother Weep with joy? Or did you find yourself in a pail with little Yusuf, When they hoisted him out of a well? Cold and lost, but reassured. Were you there, dear drop? Or were you a party of those that splashed upon The shores of the Red Sea, as Musa called upon his Lord? Or were you perched up high on a liquid wall, Atop all your companions; Or […]