The Glass Urn

by Bobbi Sinha-Morey

I was about to see her again,
worry a fist pressing at the back
of my neck when I drew up to
her front door, in my heart still
that flicker of home. Inside
the only aunt I had left, a dear
soul so close to my heart, and
a woman in her nineties so
thin there’s no fat on her bones.
Her fourth finger naked without
her wedding ring, everything in
disarray all around her: dirty
laundry spilling over in a wicker
chair, magazines piled so high
they’re about to fall over,
unanswered letters from my
stepsisters, my heart folding
in now that I see her. Milk
glass, carnival glass, a lot of
her favorite antiques now
missing from her curio cabinet,
the past fading like newsprint
in the sun. My impatience for
my cousin and her children
who are supposed to be taking
care of my aunt, a fuse going
off like a time bomb. One day
I get a call from them that she’s
passed on and all I’ve ever seen
of her is a glass urn and a picture
of her the last time she was in
her garden.


Category: Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing, SNHU online creative writing