Mother breaks into song when we take drives
Interspersing tunes between excited cries
On how beautiful the trees are in winter
No leaves to obstruct the view
Just the curves and angles of the branches
It’s her favorite time of year

Mother stirs the silence when she sits in the sun
In her chair where she used to read
When she could still hold on to the narrative
Of a novel or a tome rich in history
Her eyes are held by a chipmunk or squirrel
Tracking them the same as the cat
That sits happily where the book once lay
She erupts in a choral piece she sang a hundred times
In her many years in the church choirs
Then she conjures up a song made famous by Joan Baez
Or a musical number she once saw on Broadway

Whatever she sings now they are happy tunes
Nothing like the lullabies she would provide
When as a child it was my time for sleep
Curled up safe and warm in the home we left long ago
With a voice as beautiful as Judy or Joan
She showered me in feelings I was too young to understand
I smiled then and I smile now, there is no room for melancholy
I rejoice that she is in a happier place
Than the one she has forgotten and left behind