Another packing up dream
and we’re getting good at this.
The embroidered table runner

goes beneath the bundled
purple china cow. As we add linens
to cushion around it, I can hear my

step-dad saying, “this will ride in church”
but then it’s only you and me. I am aware
you are 90 now and this packing up

seems ominous, though you are
wearing a shirtwaist dress and the smile
of a woman 25. I beg you not to hurry

but you look through me to a past
I can’t recall and box up your silver teapot,
empty prescription bottles, photo albums

and all the paintings of our severe
relations with their beckoning frowns
and following eyes.