Sunday

Grandmere and Me

Dad took your favorite white outfit to the dry cleaner’s today,
so I turn away from the sun.
I’m laying in your bed,
careful not to submerge myself beneath the covers,
because that would mean you’re really gone.

I went to tuck myself in early this morning;
I was so cold –
But I curled myself up in a little ball instead.
I felt crumbs on your sheets from your last meal here,
and decided there were other ways I could stay warm.

I bury my face in your pillow just so I can smell you again.
I stare at the blessed oil that stands ever so earnestly atop the dresser beside your bed.
It hasn’t even been two whole days since you left us,
but it feels like a nightmare that’s lasted years.

I hear your voice,
and recall all that you said before speaking was no longer an option;
before your hands could no longer hold mine.
I kissed you when it hadn’t been too long since the blood stopped flowing,
and I kissed you once more as your outside turned to ice.

I don’t eat much.
I don’t say much.
But my tears tell it all.
I’ll keep laying in your bed because I’m closest to you here.
I’ll see you on Sunday again.

Poet: Stefanie Parrott 

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