And the desk
I take the china from 1919
We used to have at large family gatherings
The family gets smaller
In your scrapbook are old newspaper clippings
You never got around to pasting them
Faces of long-dead relatives
Misty in my own childhood memories
You as a girl child
Small and tiny from the dis-ease
Like now In the hospital small and tiny
Struggling to breathe
But this time no iron lung
Only the hum of digital machines
I feel like a plunderer
Having what once resided In your apartment
That sister and I sit and tell you what we took
Your face betraying nothing
Or so you hope
Your material life scatters already
And still you exist In the flesh
Nursing home and the promise of one day
Maybe having food, any food, again
Still you are here for me to ask
Who are those faces in the newspaper clippings?
And can I find the time to paste
Together so you can see
Your life goes on
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