My mom is gone. Just three hours after I returned to Portland from the St. Francis MFA residency, the phone call came that she had passed over. When I reached her, St Joseph’s Home had left the window open a crack so her soul could leave, they said, but I still felt some of her spirit there and she was still warm, warm enough to kiss, to say goodbye to. What a gift, to stay with her till the last warmth had gone. Beautiful Maggie, just a few months shy of your 97th birthday. I know I will be with you in another lifetime; you said to me recently, “I am more certain of that than of anything!” Thank you for making me a feminist, a witch, a poet. This poem is from Maggie’s last book, Crone’s Wines, which I edited last year for Able Muse Press.