Past, present, and future are, as Einstein 
told us, an illusion. Time exists nowhere
but in us. I seem to myself to have aged
but no, I am not mother to the daughter,
I am still the daughter, my heart seeking
Love, my hair long and straight or braided
And piled atop my head like Heidi, my
Plush dog Prince the one to whom I tell
Everything I know, which is not much.
And yet my mother has gone, as have father,
Brother, sister, and my hair is thinning.
How, I wonder, can this be? Even
My live little dog is ageing. I think we all
Must meet again, not in Heaven and not
In hell but in Einstein's equations,
For they tell us that is what we are.