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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 9, Number 3, September 2015

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Bill Waters
Pennington, New Jersey, USA


Taken with the Tide

“It isn’t pretty.” My elderly mother-in-law said that in a wry tone of voice during hospice, which for her lasted only about a week. She thought she knew what to expect going into it, but some of the experiences she had as her body prepared for its final rest were—why deny it?—undignified and uncomfortable.

so sharp
it could cut—
shadow on snow

We were thankful she didn’t lose her sense of humor along the way, because it takes one to face a death of dwindling. And she felt no fear about her impending end.

ebbing . . .
they talk about
tennis

She left us in the dead of night, her sleep transformed into a deeper silence. And since she loved the ocean, we will take her ashes to the shore when the weather warms up. We will mingle them with the ashes of her husband of 59 years, and we will scatter them on the sea.

on top of the snow
more snow
and spring’s first robin

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