Sister: a Lament

For Maxine Sister, was there forgiveness for she who birthed 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, was like an electric shock. The limbs, the torso, with sudden strangeness, bore you slight resemblance. You feared all pain, but died without complaint. Was there a last, sharp twinge? A welcome to oblivion? Even momentary awareness of your loss? Or was death no more spectacular than a tire deflating, slowly, quietly, unrecognized, and inconvenient? And was that the shame of it? That your life ended, so early, so silently, and death was no extravaganza?