A child’s hands smudged this chrome
And now. . .
Cleaning up the house
A house no longer a home
A volume smelling of old woman
What goes to her brother and sister?
Kin and in-laws
What goes into the estate-sale?
This bolt of cloth
(guess it can be sold by the yard)
And in the dust under the stair
The ancient Christmas ornaments
The ritual accoutrements heralding
Pies. . . and stories
And a Love that reaches across death
to touch me here and now