She turns towards me while opening the door
— The two cavities under her collarbones,
dark under the scorching lightbulb —
— Her shirt now three sizes too small —
Never have I seen her so frail, so hesitant
— Her angular silhouette penciled on the floor,
unnerving now, even more so later when —
Her lips parting, her voice hoarse and spent
— Her spindly fingers crooked on the handle —
She fades, featherly light, as grief wanes
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