After my mother died, I waited
for the nurses to bathe her,
and then watched as the trolley could
not maneuver out of the room.
The orderly lifted her easily
onto a shoulder and carried her into the night.
At Mass, her grandkids played a timid duet.
At the funeral home, we were asked
to provide identification.
Later, we threw peach roses
onto her coffin. The priest handed us a 
DVD of the service. A decade later
I have not returned to her grave.