Gram cut her leg leaving the wheelchair. Moving

toward shadows in the yard. Hospice to the hospital

and stitches to close the wound. Erasure.

A cloud for the shadows.

           And I am glad for my distance. Glad not to see her body

intermingle with the carpet fibers she picked out, orange

for the 1970s. My aunt scrubs the stains

but I wish she would leave them, reminders

of what is still there inside her.

They ask if she is happy to be home,

the same spot where everything happens

and nothing happens because decay is all that is in front of us.

They ask and I don’t think she knows.

Gram is getting a birdfeeder now. Realness to combat

what is not there for us, in defiance swallowing denial.

My mother, strong in the face of blood

and her heritage, will put up the pole tomorrow.

© E. Anna Keith

E. Anna Keith is a writer and peanut butter lover living in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Her work is forthcoming in the literary journal genre2. She tweets at @emkayanna