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.