I am reading the obituaries,
            looking for my Mother, and I find her
name bolded: wife, musician, deceased.
            I wake up hung-over
with fatigue— I check my phone for news.
            Now she’s standing in a hallway,
draped in a long black coat. I’m dying
            she whispers, and I pull her in close,
feel her wet cheek touching mine;
            I want to scream you don’t have to go—

I’m trying to fit the coat around us both,
            but the wool won’t stretch. I yank
at the buttons, but they won’t reach—
            our trunks wrestle for room,
our arms fight for space inside a sleeve,
            I’m suffocating.  The wild horse
appears. I hop on its back,
            and we gallop off, and I wonder
why the horse has come for me—