At the Sunny Ridge Retirement Center
During Harriet’s memorial service,
Frances leaned, put her head
on my shoulder and died—quietly
Frances leaned, put her head
on my shoulder and died—quietly
as if she didn’t want to interrupt
Harriet’s program.
The minister didn’t see us,
Harriet’s program.
The minister didn’t see us,
no one knew except me. At the piano,
Mary played the introduction
to Going Home. Everyone thumbed
Mary played the introduction
to Going Home. Everyone thumbed
their hymnals for page two hundred forty-three.
I didn’t know what to do, since Frances
still looked like Frances, only not quite
I didn’t know what to do, since Frances
still looked like Frances, only not quite
and she was ninety-five. I put my arm
around her so she wouldn’t fall
and waited for someone to notice.
around her so she wouldn’t fall
and waited for someone to notice.
Through the French doors
finches squabbled at the bird feeder.
The squirrel we call Rocky
finches squabbled at the bird feeder.
The squirrel we call Rocky
contemplated his next move.
A laundry truck rolled by.
I looked down at Frances’ navy blue crocs,
A laundry truck rolled by.
I looked down at Frances’ navy blue crocs,
the ones she claimed felt so much
like bedroom slippers
she could wear them anywhere.
like bedroom slippers
she could wear them anywhere.
“At the Sunny Ridge Retirement Center” by Peg Bresnahan from In a Country None of Us Called Home. © Press 53, 2014. Reprinted with permission.
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