Linger in the doorway,
listen:
Mom’s goodbye.
She holds their flower costume
like a child and her blankie.
Talks about their Bermuda vacation,
white sands, turquoise water,
how they held each other on that beach
for hours. How tall he was, strong.
She says:
I will do my best to take care of these girls—
our girls—
the way you did, Dale.
Then, she says—
through gasps—
she will think of him
and try harder.
Dad’s raspy breath
uneven now.
I walk back through the hall,
sign my name with my finger
on the cold, white wall.