To the waiting God

Tonight when we arrived at

the residential home where Mama

is staying

( until her next placement)

there she was,

sitting in the corridor

with three plastic bags on her knee.

Her wee face lit up when she saw us.

We took her up to her bedroom

where she kept telling us how glad she was

that we had arrived to take her home.

Of course she won't ever go home to

her own house again.

She isn't able to care for herself.

I was sitting on a soft seat,

bloved was to my left,

and Mama on the bed.

The window of her room was open

and a lovely evening breeze was blowing in.

Across the way I could see a line

full of washing blowing in the wind.

My mind drifted as Mama started to hum a song.

Then the inevitable,

we had to leave.

It was so hard on bloved

as she pleaded with him to take her home,

tears in her saddened eyes.

And we had to walk away.

When we got in, I was standing at the kitchen

window

and realised

that sometimes that on the days

we cannot pray,

prayer utters itself.

The truth enters our hearts

( a small familiar candle flicker )

and up it floats,

to a waiting God.