Sister, was there forgiveness for she who bore you?
For us, your siblings and sometime charges?
For all who would not help, but hastened your demise?
The marble coldness of your corpse,
to my touch, is like an electric shock.
The limbs, the torso, with sudden strangeness,
now bear you slight resemblance.
You feared all pain, but died without complaint.
Who can fathom what you felt?
Was there a last, sharp stab?
A welcome to oblivion?
Or even an awareness of your loss?
Or was death no more spectacular
than a tire deflating, slowly,
And was that the shame of it?
That your life ended, so early,
so silently, and death
was no extravaganza?