Elongated fingers of light
From December’s cold sun, 
Found their ways 
Through the slats 
Of the west window’s  blinds.

Slanted shadow arrows darted 
Across my hands 
As I folded soft, pink and yellow emboridered  guest towels 
For her morning shower.

I placed the towels 
on the rack over the marble sink.

She hovered 
Behind me 
Over my shoulder
Straightening her wind-blown hair.

I looked up into the mirror—-
she was not home this Christmas.

I remembered;
she died last year.