Two navy and pink quilts
cover a floral couch
where her Oscar de Laurenta
perfume lingers.
Dust touches picture frames
of memories long past,
All of her clothes sit in
the closet, boasting red sweaters
colorful pants and
a pair of slip-ons that she
had worn the heels from.
The blue pants I borrowed
when I had gotten my own
***** lie on the top of the pile.

Her favorite plates sit on the
top shelf of the cabinet
beside the sink,
her lotion still waits for her
hands.
Cannoli shells wait to be filled,
just in time for Easter.
Bottles of seltzer ready for her
to drink at lunch time.
Ice cream ready for her grandchildren
sits untouched in the freezer.
The lumpy yellow clay bowl still
sits on a desk full of bills.

Things are missing, though.
Her loud, boisterous voice calling
when you open the door,
excitement filled "look at you's",
strong laughter,
the belief that you are in fact
taller since last week.
Slippers left at the front door
because she was in the garden.
Her wedding ring,
Her love,
Her life,
Her.