you can leave now

as she

lay in her rented bed

in hospice,

being fed with

a baby spoon,

and a drip

from a tube, i'd

whisper into her ear,

you can go

now mom. 

it's okay.

no need to hang on

like this,

her brown eyes

searching

for something, her

body a cruel 

pile

of skin and bones.

let go, i'd tell her.

it's time. 

you can leave now.

go on. go home.