The day she died

  it was cloudy 

for the first time in months and the flowers 

welcomed the rain; or maybe 

it was sunny but inside it rained, 

drip dripping onto the carpet.

   my nails were too long

as I stared at our hands entwined for hours,

her skin so caressed and delicate

but growing colder in mine as I tried to 

pour my love into her lifeblood.

   she said 

Now let me sleep, I’ll wake when I wake, 

and when woken asked where she was 

As I looked around her home and thought heaven.

   my brother’s voice 

was hoarse from reading aloud 

and the pulse was so weak so I 

watched the delicate wrist bone

passed down to me and pretended

her tremors were squeezing back.

   I ate sugar cubes 

straight from the bowl and bought

her favourite pastry at the bakery

and handed over my entire wallet 

as payment.

   I fled to the garden

with the view over the river 

to catch her soul in a swallowtail

and forget the anger that did 

nothing to absolve the injustice.

   they took away her 

wheelchair and her morphine and her hospital bed

and there was a hole in the living room the size

of a struggle.

   a pillow was left and

I inhaled with my lungs that could breathe

the delicate scent of her, soft

and fading steadily.