Tuesday Poem

I dreamt
last night
of dying

my daughter
moved around
my house

handling this
picking up
that I

lay in bed
or in air
watching

trying to tell her
which meant
something

what was kept
through habit
or poverty

I wished
nothing
frayed or old

for her
to remember me
and desired

all my fripperies
and foolishness
gone

and then
she found the desk
its drawers

full of papers
old letters
poems
.

by Nicolette Stasko
from Glass Cathedrals: New and Selected Poems
Salt Publishing, Cambridge, 2006