her eyeglasses

when my mother dies

my brothers and sisters gather

at the old

house

to sort through what's left.

one sister goes straight for the russian

tea cups

while another

gets the cheese cake out of the 

refrigerator.

someone grabs a box of photo

albums,

and the youngest brother

sits in the corner

with tears in his eyes.

the bible, rosary beads goes

into someone's box to carry out,

a sister digs through

the books to look for hidden money,

turning over each can,

each jar

until she yells out Eureka,

finding five dollars

folded tightly into a

squared inch.

who wants her puzzles, laminated

and hanging on the wall?

her doll house full

of furniture, the glue still soft?

i find her eyeglasses

on the nightstand

and slip them into my pocket.

i want to see what she saw,

that's all.