Gram cut her leg leaving the wheelchair. Moving
toward shadows in the yard. Hospice to the hospital
and stitches to close the wound. Erasure.
A cloud for the shadows.
And I am glad for my distance. Glad not to see her body
intermingle with the carpet fibers she picked out, orange
for the 1970s. My aunt scrubs the stains
but I wish she would leave them, reminders
of what is still there inside her.
They ask if she is happy to be home,
the same spot where everything happens
and nothing happens because decay is all that is in front of us.
They ask and I don’t think she knows.
Gram is getting a birdfeeder now. Realness to combat
what is not there for us, in defiance swallowing denial.
My mother, strong in the face of blood
and her heritage, will put up the pole tomorrow.
© E. Anna Keith
E. Anna Keith is a writer and peanut butter lover living in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Her work is forthcoming in the literary journal genre2. She tweets at @emkayanna