The phone rings.
My Brothers voice, so many miles away,
Tells me our mother has passed.
There will be no rest.
I step out my front door,
Last night’s coffee, bitter in my cup.
Trees stand in black silhouette
Against the purple and fuchsia streaked sky.
Memories of having coffee
with Mom flow through my mind.
My hand trembles
As I realize,
We are sharing one last cup.