I didn’t think that after my death

I didn't think that after my death

I would get to see anything like this,

that I would get to see anything at all,

but especially like this, especially you

washing the mismatched, average plates

of the dinner you tried to enjoy

with the whole family on that side of things,

wearing an expression of defeat on one side,

your right, while on the other where I hovered,

I saw glimmer an expression of satisfaction,

not one grim or morbid, but actual and sound.

You were looking out the window at the tree

from which Grandpa, your husband, might see

you with your equivocal face through the pane,

but you whispered with the hissing of the faucet

my name, and whispered it again and again

as though addressing me in constant refrain,

you whispered my name and then asked

How is it you haunt me, as if you knew

I was there, hovering, casting a shadow about you,

I know you are there, you said to confirm,

as if reading the thoughts of the dead.

Then your face became a whole face,

one wholly satisfied, and I came to realize

that it was because of me you were satisfied,

then I became satisfied with you

in that moment by the sink,

as much as a fleshless being is capable.

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