Shoeless You Came
I don't if it was because you thought
you didn't need them or because you didn't
have them, but you came in shoeless
on a cold day in February. We found
some flipflops, which you loved
so well and seemed happy to wear.
And the sweat pants were a good fit
for your small frame. You ate well,
and it was hard to wake you in the mornings--
you who had not slept in so many nights.
I knew so little about you, but more
than many. You loved your mother and your
dogs. You did not complain. Tenacity
should have been your middle name.
Tonight, the medical examiner studies
what is left of you and tries to piece
together this puzzle. My mind does the same.
Goodnight, sweet woman.