Suddenly from the quietus of her passing

Eyes wide, she rose up from the bed in a shower of spit –

“I remember your father.”

Why wouldn’t she, she was his sister?

“When we buried him, God rest him,

Father Michael said he touched a lot of people.

And I couldn’t laugh, but God I wanted to.

He did.

And I was one of them.”

She sank back, quiet again.

The nurse stepped forward, fussed about, made soothing sounds.

I missed the moment of her dying,

Lost in her last words

Which took so many other lives along with hers.