TITLE: A Simple Pillow
By Diane L. Harris
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A Simple Pillow:
Clouds and pretty houses,
even the window curtains,
outlined in careful stitching.
Today, my husband placed it on my sickbed.
It has sat plump and untouched
on a living room sofa
for over a year.
I think of our friend’s mother,
who sewed the pillow.
Neither my husband nor I ever met her,
but he sang his song to her,
“Mama We’re Gonna Dance,”
over the telephone as she died.
“Mother has heard the song on tape,” years
before, our dear friend said, asking Jae
the favor of singing it just in time.
This simple pillow reminds me
of the comforts needed for living or dying.
A tear stings;
however, fear is wiped out of my heart.
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