by Wendy Saul

Five weeks apart my parents died.

I folded their clothes one last time,

Emptied the jar of hopeful Chinese cookie fortunes,

Scrubbed away the detritus of ordinary life.

It looked like she, unfailingly healthy, might exit first,

dragging pancreatic cancer like a misbehaving dog.

Then doctors found small cells growing in his lungs.

He thanked them. The athlete, the competitor was thrilled to lose. 

When the dance of denial ended

I re-learned to enter our house without dread. 

No nightly phone calls to master,

The weight of summoned cheeriness lifted

Now they are gone I can feel both lucky and sad.