You said you felt strange on the drive home,
Rushed in the front door and into the bathroom,
Horrified to find your left eye crawling in to your hairline.
These are the pictures of you before you changed
The light behind you settled gently on your shoulders
Like dust while you cozied up to your son
And a motionless laugh playing: this was your defining moment.
Here you are, grasping the mirror while features use talons to crawl
Twisting skin, slacking one side of the mouth,
a storm cloud under the right eye.
We were all in the other room, weren’t we?
We were looking at pictures when we heard your second to last breath,
And it was me who said, “Did someone just hear that?
It sounded like paper being ripped in half.”
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