By Mark Tulin
My mother died, but don’t worry,
she’s all right, doing just fine,
spends her days in a wooden box
with me sleeping on the grass outside.
She’s calm. Doesn’t say a word,
doesn’t eat a thing, doesn’t move an inch—
Nothing seems to hurt, plenty of fresh air,
warm sunshine and cool nights.
She’s where she wants to be,
her son by her side
deep in the woods—
The perfect place to reside.
Ashes burnt from the past,
memories drifting in the sea,
no longer flesh and achy bones,
no longer cataracts and hammertoes.
Mark Tulin’s poetry chapbook is titled Magical Yogis.
thedrabble.wordpress.com 
Beautiful, slightly creepy and powerful. A perfect summation of love and loss and grieving
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The peace of death, this poem really captured what it means to “rest in peace”.
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Don’t you know?
She wants you to
Run free
Be happy
Find someone or
Something
To enjoy~
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wonderfully poignant!
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Beautifully expressed, Mark. It has touched me deeply. It reminds me of my father’s death. I let him go and rest in peace as the narrator of the poem (whether fiction or real you?). How well you have captured these last moments where accompanying the beloved person to the other world is vital. My father had the same kind of death, a most peaceful one if possible.
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Truly beautiful! Respects!
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