Every Night

My father
Sleeps a
Few feet
Away from
Where my
Mom died.

Weeks before
Her official
Passing he had
Pronounced her
Already dead.

Listening to
Her voice,

Feeding her,

Or treating
Her like


I arrived to
Find her in
A Shrunken
State. jaw
and collar

Into near


I’m not
So easily
By quiet.


For days,
I asked
Her ?s &
To her
To string 2-
3 words, &
Make more
Sense than
My father
Would give
Her credit.


I heard her,
And the more
I heard her, the
More she spoke,
The more she ate,
The more energy she
Exuded, Until she was
Fashioning wit and person
Like I always knew, but never
Took the time to appreciate in
A fullness death introduces you
To of those you never loved loud
Enough, soon enough, lively enough.


I heard her
Until I couldn’t.
And then I drove
The four hours there
To hold her hand, as she
Laid dying, and I couldn’t
Feel her there any longer,
And felt little need to speak
Any truths she hadn’t already
Heard. I drove four hours back,
And as soon as I arrived safely,
In the SUV she gifted me to keep,
My father called, and she was gone.

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