Your mother’s body, still robust from
Many years of treadmill walking,
Careful eating and tai chi,
Is forgetting how to hold a fork and
Make her favorite chair recline.
You’ve mostly gotten used to her
Not knowing who you are and how
She asks you every 30 minutes
Where her parents live. She’s 94
And though she hoped to beat it,
She is dying. Tomorrow you will
Buy her funeral because, in truth,
Your mother’s dead already and this
Ancient woman at her kitchen table,
Cursing at the aides and treating you
Much better than when she knew you
As her daughter, is just a shadow of
The one you wished would love you.
Tonight, you pray that you yourself escape
Dementia. You’re expecting that tomorrow
You can choose you mother’s casket and
The room the service will be held in,
Then go about your weekend business
As if it’s just an ordinary day.
Whether through Shamanic practice, through ministry, or through art, Riva finds peace and practice in spreading love, compassion, and empathy for the self and others. 