A Face Upon a Coin

My mother looked so regal
though stirless,
anchored,
a cargoless
vessel.
I watched her breast
for signs of motion
though there were none.
Her body, like a nest
from which the birds had flown.
I watched her breast
for signs of breath,
but there were none.
My mother, Queen of Cups
in state, with that regal cast
upon her face.
Did death take away my mother
And leave a monarch in her place?