Heart Happy (cathy_edgett) wrote,
Heart Happy

Homage today for my mother!

The day after we returned from Connecticut after my mother's death, I knew I needed to go to Pierce Point, the piece of land that juts out on the Pacific Plate, offering unbelievable views of the ocean and Tomales Bay at the same time. Imagine walking between the ocean and the bay on the most beautiful, exquisite land. That's Pierce Point. I love it. The Tule Elk live there. I knew that was where my mother would be as she translated from this life to another.

Tomales Bay divides two tectonic plates, the American and the Pacific. The San Andreas fault line runs down the middle of Tomales Bay. One day Los Angeles will be next to San Francisco as it creeps a few inches north each year. Now, that will be something to see!

I went to Pierce Point four times after her death, once a week for a month, once with Jeff, once with Joyce, once with Ellen, and once alone. This poem came from one of those times. It makes sense to me. I hope there is something here for  you.



                                                                        pierce point   


                                                    my mother dies

                                              I cross to this land mass

                                                        each week

                                                  wanting connection

                                                    with the other side

                                         I feel her here with the Tule Elk

                                                Tomales Bay -  ocean waves -

                                                          her death a gentle quake-

                                                                   birds sang as she died


                                                                            as she passed -


                                      am I a fawn


                                      the heart of a flute,

                                      holes played by the wind,


                                      with grief, a shoe in which I step

                                      and sail,

                                      like Winkin’, Blinkin’ and Nod,


                                      fairy tails,

                                      seep, weep, sleep - the tale is old
                                                    in our wake



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