This is what my Mother said.

Of all the wonderful things
my mother said,
her final words meant most.

She was sat in her kitchen.
Stick thin,
cigarette in.

Beautiful.
A touch of Hollywood still.

She only had days left.
She worked it out.
She had to pass it on.

A route for living.
Before the dying.

Her eyes set upon mine,
fierce with love.
She lifted a glass of wine.
Heavy with the years.

Red,
like blood.

‘Go live your life,
try to do everything.
Don’t stop!’

It's two years on now.
Where do I start?