his Mother

By Brenna Croker

Drawing lines and inspiration from Frank Herbert’s Dune

His Mother
Feeling heaviness in the stillness around her,
She carries herself forward
Into the eye of the divine,
A singular black skylight above her head.

Through the glass – darkness, stars,
A hole into tomorrow –
Time cycles forward, persists,
The spaces between the tiles grey beneath her feet.

She had seen the desert through his eyes,
Seen the tragedies this life accepted as natural,
Understood the possible futures he had glimpsed
As she held him to her breast one final moment.

Life is impermanent.
How little the universe knows about the nature of real cruelty.
How little nature realizes how cruel it can be.
Her warm palm slides against the ice-cold rail, his skin.

Life reaching for the future in the midst of death,
In the thoughtful quiet that follows that last sigh,
She carries herself forward
Through the glass door toward the eventual.