There is a passing

from my hand, holding a pen
over a blank page, waiting
for the sound of a poem

to Sister Ruth’s deathbed sigh, “This is a journey
I didn’t want to take yet, but I suppose it’s time.”
Sister Lauren sings “How Great Thou Art.”

Ruth’s students follow with “Amazing Grace.”
She looks to her brother, my father, beside her.
Spirit decides the time, and she is gone.

There is a passing

through hollow rooms, once Sylvia’s house
alive with accordion polkas, country strumming
from her son’s guitar, waltzes on violin

as her husband stands poised next to the piano.
I touch the weighted keys, her ghost settles
upon me, our fingers playing “Heart and Soul.”

Outside, laundry shimmies under clothespins.
A green, magnetic wind pulls it free, and Sylvia
leaves in a tornado, uproots the house, and flies.

There is a passing

between thin hands, blue life pulsing
on the surface, holding on

until the last rolling sigh becomes
the song that helps us disappear.