It was in her face I saw it smiling
back from the obituary page.
I could detect her steely blues
insisting: "Not dead, I'm not dead".
"Just that body, just that body".
Then, swear to heaven, from that
page, with certainty and joy
absolute, she winked! She winked:
"I'm free, I'm free, I'm free".
Poinsettias through the window-she put them there.
She, in the next room coughing, trying to do the
crossword puzzle with blues that ken neither left or
right or straight ahead. Back torn in pain she battles
with the puzzle a little more. Then, without anger
she enters the room in which I sit, engages the Dell
to play solitaire. She succeeds only ‘til eyes fatigue.
Some would say, with some veracity, she is but a
tenth of what she once was. Daydreaming, I must
agree. The raven locks, taut skin, a figure lithe and
lovely- the strong back bent in hard work for all of
us. All these I recall now, damp-eyed, choking on
the memories. Those eyes, those eyes, those heart
giving soul blessed Irish eyes. Hell! Yes, I say hell.
Oh, but looking out that window I see poinsettias.
And ‘twas she that put them there.