I hear the change . . . 

it’s in her voice . . .

in her way.

Mom is getting old;

I don’t want to accept . . .

she will one day leave.

Leave me here;

Alone.

The world she protected me within;

And taught me to thrive . . .

at least, to survive.

It’s the end of the stronger side;

of Mom.

Survivor of a Great Depression;

Fighter of every schoolyard bully . . .

for me.

She remembers an assassination . . .

of a great man;

or is it more?

I do not.

Mom was politically assertive;

she is still her . . .

just lesser in vim . . .

Vigor still stands, though.

I am her in her 50s…

will my boldness wane?

Like Mom at 84?

I will miss the bolder side;

and embrace the elder side;

I hope for years to come.

The end of my younger Mom.

The beginning of my middle-age

and Mom’s last stage(s) . . .

but not the end of her!