I wanted the blankets in which he wrapped himself
each night, sleeping wound in soft plaid fleece;
but a helpful sister, in need of a task
amid the hubbub of new death
had gathered every loose thread
Oh. Almost unbearable, the complexity and ache of that. But thank you.
After my mother died I would hear her calling my name. If someone had taken away those sounds I would have been devastated. Cro.
So powerful in so few words..........