Mother

                

If you are lucky
a parent shows you
how to live and die
economically. But how
lucky I am to have
you, as these parent-child
allegories begin to
recede, show me
the third way
that is neither living
nor dying, but
the immortal laugh
which hovers
in the middle
as you do, your toes
slightly off the earth
twinkling as Nijinsky
never did, ancient
death-mask, your beautiful
face mostly bone
but lighter than
any of Chagall's lovers,
you untether me
alongside you
so that I lift
and I return to you.