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Mother, Edith, at 98

Michael Lee Johnson

Edith, in this nursing home
blinded with macular degeneration,

I come to you with your blurry

eyes, crystal sharp mind,

your countenance of grace--

as yesterday's winds

I have chosen to consume you

and take you away.


"Oh, where did Jesus disappear

to, she murmured,

over and over again,"

in a low voice

dripping words

like a leaking faucet:

"Oh, there He is my my

Angel of the coming."



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