Before my friend’s mom died, she looked up

at me from her bed and said

It’s very strange not having a say in all this.

She tells me that this plane we are on is not the only one.

She talks about her daughter.

She talks about both of her daughters.

When she stops talking

and stops waking up, her mouth open in that human O,

a really kind music therapist arrives

and plays The Beatles. After she dies, she is dressed

in a favorite dress. A hat is set on top of her new skeleton head.

She’s a woman going places.