Your presence in this house is almost as enormous and painful as your absence.

Are you past pity? If you have consciousness now, if I something I can call "you" has something like "consciousness," I doubtyou remember the last days.I play them over and over:I lift your wasted bodyonto the commode, your armslooped around my neck, aimingyour bony bottom so thatit will not bruise on a rail.Faintly you repeat,"Momma, Momma.

I wish you were that birch rising from the clump behind you, and I the gray oak alongside.

Your presence in this house is almost as painful and enormous as your absence.