the last tenant

a nice snow
pile stack of bills
sits on the round
black table, check
book, pen, register,
a calculator that
i never use, stamps
and fresh envelopes
soon to be licked
and creased and taken
to the post office.
they keep coming,
don't they. i still
get notices and bills
for the last tenant
who died seven years
ago come december. i
take a finger and
touch her name across
the front, and remember
her well. her smile,
her voice and stormy
moods. all of her
in a name, coming
once more through the
slot onto the floor,
once her house, now
mine. she loved to
light candles, everywhere,
i'll put one in the
window just for her
this christmas.