see you when you get home

I get a postcard
from my mother. I see her
familiar handwriting
learned
at the lessons
of nuns
in south
Philadelphia.
I see the smooth way
her letters swirl,
the lightly crossed
t's and dotted i's.
even and clear.
she says hello my son,
how are you these days?
my love
for you has never wavered.
don't be so
concerned about me,
i'm fine.
but i'll be leaving soon,
leaving this
old
body i'm trapped in, here
in his soft bed
where they feed me with
a baby's spoon.
none us can fathom
the mystery of why
God is taking His sweet time,
but please don't worry,
take good care of yourself,
i'm fine.
i'll be leaving soon.
i'll see you when you
get home.