Inventory, and: Inheritance

And now, before six, the sun hitting Her things, crowding my room inside these pink walls, stoic brass lamps with cream pleated shades, colonial chandelier on its side, rusted flour sifter, glass baking trays, five—from lasagna to brownies; blue bucket of household cleaners, red aerosols, and white spray cans; kitchen stool facing down, maroon photo albums with their black felt pages' and white-penciled inscriptions; iron next to paper cups, spatula, and slated spoon; a Lord & Taylor's box labeled mementos, stack of medical files over five years; ice bucket, wine glasses cleaned and stacked in a brown paper bag, red sleigh of artificial holly and pine, empty file cabinet, glass plates and matching bowls, nesting French soufflé dishes; Her Lenox, Golden Wreath, discontinued 1980, layered and lopsided in Her monogramed blue towels in several open baskets, as if for a picnic; box of lightbulbs and yellow sprinkler with last name printed in magic marker; paintings by mother-in-law, watercolors of Vermont, against a wall; black-green marble patterned tray tables; Shakespeare's works in six volumes atop a backgammon box, Teddy Bear with blue ribbon, and the small sculpture, jade green, nude carrying water bowl in crook of her neck, without identity, her one purpose in life, to hold that bowl, to be admired, to find a place on the shelf; but she has put the bowl down now, wiped her brow, and returns to find it empty, no reflection, no water, no arms, and I cannot find her either in this ether, among remnants of the kingdom, sun sparking the gold chandelier, light green through an old sailor's jug on the wall, how life gets dismantled, and we, once children, anthropologists, fingering recipe cards like hieroglyphics, breathing into the quiet, the extraordinary quiet, after a reign, after it is done, court dismissed, castle breached, handmaiden without hands.

Inheritance

Because they left the body behind, because they lived in the damp rainof their gray-pink brain, labyrinth without exit, because they drankwhat they called nightcap, chaser, hot toddy, brew,ate linguini and clam sauce, tapped into ice cream late at night,took red pills prescribed by doctors who knew it was hard to quit,because their exercise was to walk to the station or car, lay in bed, faces    flickering blue,often said they were happiest asleep, groaning in dreams,because one turned orange and died at sixty-nine,because the other gulped fear and popped worry until no one could stand    her,because they left the body behind, I

pull myself like a shipwreck survivor onto the moist shore, imprint its sand,because they left the body behind, I am the flag waving on the pole set in    this new land,sun rising from the sea and reddening at night, I am breath and air and    electric bluetwilight, I am one billion pores like stars, salt and water and circuitry,I am praise.