All, by some miracle,
swept away as cleanly and carefully
as a magician’s kerchief covers first
this hand and then the other.
A huge eclipse of sun and moon.
I said a prayer, walked home in the rain
and couldn’t remember when the cancer started
or which doctor to blame for finishing
his dinner of Japanese raw fish and saying
mother was too far gone for anything
but comfort.
All I remember is underthings.
Will she need panties?
Do they bury them barefoot?
I still don’t know.