My parents moved in with me.
They arrived soon after the memorial
service and the family house sold.
Forwarded magazines, store flyers
and catalogs permanently acquired
my address with their names.
This daily dross pursues those
who have transcended worldly things ó
hearing aids and playing golf with the
spry well-coifed in an opulent retirement
paradise and otherworldly ó a tasteful
tri-fold promoting cremains buried at sea
or a stylish mausoleum rising above
rolling lawns under a perpetual sun
shining over my loved ones and me.
Iíve gotten used to the three of us here
in my small apartment. I added another
can for wastepaper and allow extra time
to read or rip what isnít mine. Thereís something
comforting when Iím reminded that Mom
and Dad, only a stamp away, havenít really left.
They show up most days about two-oíclock
when I decide whatís worth keeping
and whatís junk.
© by†Susan T. Moss.
Used with the authorís permission.