At night they come to me–
my sister or my father,
my mother or her mother–
mutually recognizing
that they have died
and that we have,
for whatever reason,
been given a few more minutes together.

Sometimes,
I ask questions,
because I need to know,
to understand
myself.

Sometimes
it is enough to be silent together,
exchanging looks drained of everything
but acceptance.

Text and image © 2014 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.