I never saw her in a hospital bed
But I saw her dead
In the bedroom of the new house
She and my father had only just bought.
I helped him put in hardwood floors
Paint the walls and wash the windows
But you don’t see death coming
Even with the windows clean, even in summer
With its endless color of blue.
If someone tells you
They lost someone dear
You try to know how they feel
But, of course, you don’t.
Some say death is like birth
Or it’s something new that is over.
The living have a bag of tricks
But death is never in it.