She held my hand up against hers

in shock

"it looks like mine"

feeling her wrinkly skin, soft fingers

and the warmth compared to the room.

These hands have raised two sons,

buried one,

and will never see mine.

"Atleast you get to be here with me for it,

unlike with your father..."

She offers her death

like a gift

to me.

I notice too I have her collarbone, and

perhaps maybe her same face,

maybe the same realistic spirit.

Clearly Darwin is present,

But this time I don't wait and see,

I marinate

in the minutes, as they pass,

thanking Hashem for my own life,

Over. And over. And over.

No hiding of tears

I comfort her soul for passing as

She prepares mine for living;

with her stories

and wisdom about the past.

What shall I carry with me forever?

This moment or a lucky penny

Or something super serendipitous

How is it being in between life and death!

What infinite wisdom should I know?

I need a story for my children's children.

"Whatever you do,...

don't let a man give you Herpes!"

She says,

"it complicates everything..."