when she slips away

we get word from afar,
late,
that she has taken her life.
slipped under
a warm bath gone pink.

we sit with this news
in the kitchen, drinking our
coffee.

we have no words to say.
although
who didn't see it coming.

she was a light flickering
on and off,
as if a storm inside of her
never settled,
never passed.

you could see it in her words,
the way her
hands shook, in her
eyes, how dark
and still
they'd be when joy
should have stayed.

her papers will be sifted through
for clues.
her phone, her
electronic devices
that she was glued to.

but the reasons are not
one, or two,
but many. so many that
there was little,
her doctors, her friends,
her lovers,
her children could ever
do.

someone will collect her clothes,
her things,
her books,
her necklaces and rings.
her world, such as it was.
all of it
will be packed away in boxes
and shifted
to some dark place
to be forgotten.