The passing
my mother’s slippers
watch over her passing
in the way of old friends
her glasses, lonely
for the smile in her eyes
gaze from empty windows
behind the door
her pinny, missing her
warmth
hugs her empty shape
until, after the wake
the final separation of
what is, from what was
the ritual burning
consumes shared lives
as a chapter closes
~ Merlene Fawdry
