A Sudden Turn

The day before my mother dies lying on a sunken bed she wends a river through the room each word a steady flow whispered over rocks. Jagged shapes lodged in her throat, prove obstacles. In time a breeze helps rub them smooth, rushing to re-tell her life, battered on the shore forced along by currents she did not control. At night her breath calm now, she takes a sudden turn, aims towards the sun.