My mother’s bones feel delicate, sparrow’s bones, while her face, still beautiful, is furrowed. No wings, yet fly she did to this Kansas prairie, this landlocked state.
My mother came, not of free will to a free state, but coerced by a decline she repudiates, impatient with each infirmity. Yet she wakes each day courageous, a reluctant pioneer,
although, having misplaced faith, she cannot trust that there is light beyond the stars.
There are difficulties in all journeys to be sure, but in most loss is balanced by promise.
But promise is scarce in this fossil sea.
In her dreams, she is a girl, diving into ocean waves, lean arms pulling to the surface, face lifting joyously from the sea. In her dreams she is stronger than the tides.
My mother’s bones feel delicate…
— Susan Kraus