Dear Ruth
tomorrow marks nine years exactly
you were so lovely in your last decades
each of us four children fought
to have you at the end
I was the lucky one

When I wheeled you on the plane
to bring you here to Oregon
someone said to me
if she dies during the flight
don't say a word or else
we'll have to land

But you survived the trip
and the next morning
when I wheeled you out
into our livingroom
and Carroll brought you coffee
you watched the chickadees
raiding the feeder
just outside the window
you turned to me and said
Oh Stephen this is perfect!

Three or four days later
I took you to a doctor
to get morphine
so you could sleep at night
you didn't like the drive
and when the doctor said
Ruth it's been a pleasure
and I hope to see you again
you answered with your usual
spunk and spirit
"well I certainly hope not!"

After you died
I seemed to see the world
through your eyes
noticing as never before
the little things
birds, flowers, insects
rocks and leaves
the world that your loved most
and just today
while visiting a friend
whose wife announced that she
was separating iris tubers
and would I like to take some
I thought of how
through all my childhood every fall
you'd be out in the garden
on hands and knees