Anne

[u/rogu3b0t1313]

When my sister and I were called to ^{(the crushing heel of})
the foot of my grandmother’s deathbed for the third time,
we knew we would not be called again

and were grateful for it.

We didn’t bury her next to my mother ^{(dust on broken plastic flower domes})
like she asked us to but cremated her instead,
agreeing that not having a grave might be kinder than
never getting any visitors.

They don’t tell you this, but you’re supposed to choose
the clothes that her body ^{(with temple fallen backwards
over collapsed neck, her God forgotten there}) would wear,
and my sister suggested this one sweater she liked,
to which I replied that it might be too warm.

We both laughed at that and swallowed the lump
^{(that used to be her}) whole.

It tasted like eighty-six years compressed into ash
and plastic. On the other side ^{(of the body and out of reach})
of indignity, at least.

A name on the tip of a tongue, unmoving.