This past week has been a lesson, a remembrance of mortality. My close friend’s mother is dying from cancer. Hard and fast. So today, I would simply like to offer this poem that I wrote about my mother — a warm memory of her before her own death, 15 years ago.
faint aurora
She wanted to show me Aurora Borealis
a close friend from her past
Lighting up her old Alaskan nights
with whiskey and a rock star boyfriend.
A lifetime later
I am a small child,

setting my alarm clock for five a.m.
I bundle in mittens and scarf
and meet her in the kitchen.
Silently, she hands me a cup of tea
opens the back door of the house
the screen creaks behind us.
I follow the silhouette of her big down coat
the sound of snow crunching under her boots.
whispers and gestures
as to not scare away pre-dawn
We crouch near the garden
I don’t want to look up until she does
christening our sky with the first gaze
White streaks of Northern light tear through space
reflecting off my mother’s morning pallor.
She points to faint Aurora
and subtle Borealis
She names constellations
Do you see it?
I always say yes
I want to see everything she has seen.
Collecting my thoughts with Big Dipper
held in Virgo’s celestial cloak.
Name Me
here in this luminous phenomenon.
I quiver in love for her
She feels me shake and thinks I’m cold
But I am warm with being chosen.