most days, the past is the past
but there are pieces of me
bits that were………..sweet
I try to recall, try to reach past
gray eyes once were green
past bones cold from damp
to recall
other things press through
Sister passed at fifty, burnt to ash
interred atop Brother who left at thirty …five?
his casket baby-blue: did Daddy choose that?
or his then wife?
flowers of purple dark and light
his favorite color, Iris, reminiscent
of when we all dwelt in a single place
I chose through exhaustion
in our house, the youngest
was the Forgotten, not the spoiled
the ever Forgiving, the One
left behind, the One who calls
the One to call, the One
who sits with death and buries bodies
