piece by piece

things fall apart if they are not checked

daily, or even moment to moment

a shingle can fly off the roof, an insulator

fall from a post, a fly buzz into the kitchen

geraniums are hardy, too stiff to wilt

when dried out the pots fall over, spilling

the dirt onto the shelf and floor, damn cats

a rock in each to help gravity

childhood stories wind around the pear tree

plastic bag tied in knots holds  a huge apple

in place on its branch, defying birds and moon

even the pull of the earth and tides

taking apart the household, piece by piece

ceramic frogs, chicken mugs, silver dollars

Indian head nickles, Roosevelt dimes

dust, boxes of shoes and pictures of us

it's taken a long while to find the courage

to open the corners, drawers and envelopes

"I hate to throw away things people cared about,"

our eldest brother says in the woodshed

each Christmas ornament, weary from holding shape

shedding its color, gathered into plastic bags

stashed out of context and found

brings us closer to an empty house

a silent kitchen without a fire

a greenhouse with no geraniums

an empty house brings us closer

to letting her go

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