poetry

40 days of poeming a mother. The first.

The forty days
before your spirit
departs is
longer than the Buddhist’s
meager four.
I should be
grateful
you hung around
that veiled
extra

but my heart is
a vicious little fist,
a greedy organ.
And your
spirit
passes through
the blood
like a blue note
I boil
to block
the exit door.