Dear Mom, today I was fine
until my son played piano
and crowed "make a video, send it
to Nonni" and then his face fell.
When hospice began you told us
to stop moping. You'd tell me now
to make hay while the sun shines,
suggest that I hire a sitter
and go out with friends --
just dab a little concealer
so no one can see I've been crying.
Mom, I'm trying. But nothing
feels real without you here to see it
and I just sang my son
the lullaby I sang to you
as you were dying.