"No, sorry, I can't stay. I have to go."
Only I didn't have to go. I spoke
those words without thinking but then I left.
Her eyes full of terror, frightened, although
I lived across the hall, not far at all.
No, I know I should have stayed but this joke
gave me a smile, so I left her bereft.
Go on, then, tell me how she died. I know
only a little of her past, her fall,
little by little, bit by bit, into
dementia, the madness in our family.
Cold? Yes, you might say a person turns blue,
as if listening to a homily
not just made her lose oxygen but show
signs of cyanide poisoning. Her death
took a moment to register, like why,
after decades going to church, the sky,
yes, the azure sky, takes her last breath.
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