Waiting for my daughter to bathe and dress

I’m in the garden

It’s autumn and I’m harvesting and hacking 

Taking peppers and tomatoes and eggplant 

Then uprooting and tossing the foliage 

We’ll never eat it all; we have to give it away

Two days ago Mom went from hospital to hospice 

Last time I saw her she was unconscious 

Her mouth open

Her right arm moved reflexively as if to tease us with feathery hope 

The left is useless but remained warm and alive

I slept well for the first time in days

Did good work, the sweet peppers, eggplant and chiles are fully dispatched 

put a dent in the tomato forest

Beanstalks will wait another day

She texts “I’m ready” we drive to a convention center

She is in cosplay regalia with earbuds implanted

I command the car to play Sinatra and I sing along 

“Fly me to the moon…”

(If she is embarrassed it’s my right to embarrass but she probably can’t hear)

Admiring his technique but more so his brio 

I drop her off

Still forgetful on the way home

I’ve switched to Tony Bennet

When I notice that I’m happy and how rare that is

Grief slips in for a moment, a shudder like a haunting or possession (if I believed in such things)

I don’t resent the grief because it has rough edges

I understand it.  

It’s the most normal thing about me