Stone Home
by claire bradley


they won't bury her
in a jacket of earth
she has a stone home
largest one
always did like fine things
shine and quality
making up for the dullness

bodies will push together
in gravity's grip
making room
for the remaining
that will end here
huddled in this transitional lobby
of the afterlife

an aunt touches my arm
bordered soft with talcum and condolences
she didn't want me to tell you
her hands have the shine of a showroom car

my own polish remains gnawed
tiny continents on each fingertip
unwashed, since the hospital
rubbing them togther
no spark of life discourages
the remaining chill
within my skin






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