CLEARING THE HOUSE

I am upstairs sleeping

My father is downstairs dying.

He lies in a hospice bed

in the living room of that

Beautiful old house.

I cared for him,

moistening his mouth, changing his bedclothes,

wishing away his pain.

Upstairs, I close my eyes, welcoming rest.

My mother burst into the room where I lay,

Sissy, she says, eyes wide, excited,

Your daddy's dead.

I don't remember calling

hospital...doctor...funeral home?

I remember the living room

Empty.

I remember the hurry to clear out the hospice bed.

I remember my mother

I remember my brother

Anxious to clear the room of death.