To My Mother's Last Love

Abbie Langmead originally from Boston, MA, but currently writing poetry from Dublin, Ireland. Her poetry has recently appeared in BarBar, Trace Fossils Review, Quarter Press, and many others. Find her in those places, walking very confidently when she doesn't actually know where she's going, or hosting dinner parties in her apartment. 

To My Mother’s Last Love, David Hein, and Irene Sankoff

We’re going to fly over Gander, Mom.

You wanted to go, to see if the people

Were really as kind as their music

Made you think it was.

It’s on the map, past Argyle and Halifax,

Past a few miles East of Charlottetown

And a few miles west of Saint-Pierre

The last landmass I’ll see before a long stretch of ocean.

I’ll stay up to see it,

Although I haven’t slept much,

I’ll look down at the place you loved

In passing, just to see it.

I’ll see if there’s lights for you there, mom.

I look out now and it’s just darkness.

There have been patches of lights here and there,

Made by homes and people I’m sure you would’ve spoken to.

You believed in human kindness,

But not of overcoming pain.

That’s why you liked those songs

And the people who would sing them.

Mom, the last day I saw you,

You were playing that music.

That song they wrote with all the prayers layered

On top of each other, in case one of them was right.

I don’t know what you remember of it.

But I know the prayers for peace

In a handful of different religions

And cry if I hear any of them.

You believed in heaven,

And I bet you think that it’s like Gander.

A place where you find joy again

In the tragedy, without pretending that it didn’t happen.