The emptying

We emptied my Grandmother’s room today
Her heart
Mended and still

Her things:
A towel
Hand lotion
Dirty Clothes

Slowly disappeared into bags

Her wheel chair
Her walker
Silent and lonely
Sat illuminated
In a soft shaft of light
Tiny flakes of her skin
Suspended and only visible
Within the beam
Drifts in the tiny space

Her things:
Tissues
Creamers
Fake sweeteners

Make my chest hurt

Our sad dance
Of forced laughter
And restrained heart ache
The room becomes vacant

Her Things:
An old photo of Grandma and Grandpa
Fifty-seven cups of vanilla pudding
A cordless phone

All her life
Sits within this room
It was her stuff
But it has been transformed
Into temporary artifacts
That quietly announce

“I was here once and now I am gone.”