I may some day think
of my mother as mute
because the years are taking
her voice away.
She never said
"yes"
or "no"
when I gave her
permission to die.
She did not respond
with words
when I told her
that she had done
all that she could do
for her children.
Her eyes
are what I most remember
about that evening.
They were grateful.
And all I hear,
sometimes,
is the sound
of life leaving her,
two days later.
And her world is
silent and serene,
like the muted light
that came through the shade
of the hospital window.
2/11/94