Poetry Collection Fall 2014: IX. Taki Biha

I remember your eyes as a child:
Gray, hazy, a blindness that confused me.
But I knew, even though cloudy,
They saw me, your little baby girl.

I remember your face as a child:
Saggy, lazy, a wrinkly-ness that befuddled me .
But I knew, even though weathered,
There was a youth in your spirit, my biha.

Last year, I remember parts of you:
Insulin shots, soiled diapers, glucose tablets.
It all frustrated me, but I knew that all this
Is what you would do for me, my taki biha.

Last week, I remember all of you:
Your jaundice, empty eyes, breathless body.
I knew it was your time, even though we laughed minutes before,
But I was selfish and breathed life back into you for hours. 

Now, I see all of you, my old baby:
Your clammy skin, your closed eyes, your flat-line.
I sigh with you final exhale, and I am reassured
that you, my beautiful flower, are with Papa and your God again.