Mail

A month after mama died
and was safely locked in her ashy slot,
cards began to arrive from her old address,

mail neither of us thought to check.
Encouragements from friends telling her
she will beat this, will pull through, will live,

cards like kind medicine
that could have made dying sweeter, a wall
of folks on the docks waving

as her vessel pulled from shore,
set to sea on a tide of love. Instead,
as she's locked in one slot, another

opens, mail from the old world,
angels sprung full of hope
a month too late. 

This poem appears in my book Mama (2026).