We know where she was born
We know where she died
beyond that
we're not able to write
an obituary for the newspaper
and what does it matter anyway
that we don't know what she did
what flowers she liked
her favorite walks
with whom she loved
She had no children
No one came to visit
when she went to the nursing home
Her life is a blank
since all her papers were burned
by those who cleaned
the room where she lived
Does anyone remember
Does anyone care
So now a simple grave
on the South Dakota prairie
in a simple wooden box
in the flowered dress she wore
rolling in the wheel chair
through the doors
of nevermore.
Barry G. Wick
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