Shari Diane Willadson

If the Smoke Floats Lazy

She wants me to help her find
her last words. They must be cryptic
so that everyone will hang
over her bed, close to her mouth,
waiting for understanding.

I suggest "I hid all my money
under the fifth rock." She coughs,
a huge, laughing cough that brings
a nurse around the corner. She waves
her off; the nurse frowns at me.

In our family bible, next to the dates,
are the last words. Her grandmother,
a Memphis socialite, had said "We'll never
be invited again." Her father's words were
"Get out of the way, I can't see the road."

She thinks we should coordinate them;
make them read like a poem flowing
down the right-hand side of the page.
We'll start with her mother's:
"If the smoke floats lazy," She'll add hers
and I'll add mine.

Shari Diane Willadson has been writing for over twenty years.She has been published in The Astrophysicist's Tango Partner Speaks, Moonshade Magazine, Poetry Cafe, and Poetry Magazine. She lives in Washington State, USA with her husband and daughter.