she was hardly here

my father's companion of
30
years dies
in her sleep.
wordless, as she was in
life.
i could count on one
hand
the things she said.
she was a small bird,
just bones
and skin,
big brown eyes,
but a quiet soul,
always with a smile,
her hands folded in
her flowered lap.
polite and mannered,
raised down the road
in Carolina.
if she picked up, she
was quick to say, let
me get your father on
the phone.
childless, friendless.
always to herself
in her own room.
at times it seemed
she was hardly here,
and now it's hard
to imagine that
she's even gone.