Not Yet a Separate Peace

 Not Yet a Separate Peace                       Frannie Zellman

For my mom

I am not yet ready

For you to float

That last peace

Into the final light.

Every system of belief states

That you will know peace,

And considering the trials

Your thin little body has known

In the past six months,

Perhaps I should just let go.

I know your energy will shine

In all its rich fight

As it seeks the next dimension

Or world.

But I grudge the next stage

Its new love

As I stand reluctant

To let your strong voice rest.

I cannot find it in me

To let sixty years’ worth

Of arguments and sad laughter

Leave light and easy.

We were never easy.

You said that I was like my dad,

And now I own that truth.

You didn’t like my strong big body

Or my shy polite smile.

I thought you set the women’s movement

Back sixty years just by walking.

But through the years I learned

To value your love served out in nervous care

And doubt for my safety

Through storms and bad boyfriends.

You began to understand.

Somewhere down the line

We meshed.

Now you lie flat or occasionally on your side,

Not able to move from the bed.

You gaze up at me,

Increasingly vague as the hours pass,

Or preparing to leave the leaden

Body and drift onward.

It is my selfishness, my stubborn memories

That still frame you in your strong testy voice

That called us home from street tag

That told me to forget boys

And honor homework.

What I honor today is your insistence

And your steady refusal

To leave well enough.

What I hold on to in spite of the grace

I am supposed to seek

Is another stubborn refusal

To say goodbye

To your fiery little life,

And let it find its next home.

“Mom, don’t go.”

The signs will advance

You will push to fly

As I know you must and will.

But I can’t ease you away yet.

I don’t know how to give you up

Or start missing you.