came
to her house,
with their brushes
and ladders,
she was already gone,
the doors
to the children's room
taped off.
the oven
on.
her last book of poems
typed out on
the table.
was there a note,
a farewell?
we'll never know.
but it seems she'd
been writing
it for so long
anyway.
in each poem,
a goodbye is found.
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