from nowhere
she resurfaces. the moon face
of my mother
speaking
towards a sister.
let the sunshine in, she says
from her deep bed
as the blinds are hatched open.
she hasn't spoken
in months, nearly a half
year, and now
this.
what's to make of it?
what mystery
there is in life, in dying,
in observing
the hand of God
on her.
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