(for Donna)

Tonight as I am tucked into my warm bed,
she is on the overnight in the house
where we grew up, my womb mate who
occupied the same space two years

after me, the little sister who, early
in our lives, became the more competent,
confident one, who now is the one
she who bore us looks to most

in her final days and these long nights.
My sister keeping vigil tonight, as
I will tomorrow, as each of us has
done for others through our long,

lucky lives given us by the one
fading now, who is at last sleeping
longer so there is a chance for
a bit of rest, a bit of respite.

We learn again by watching her:
It is not easy to leave a body, to
exit a long lifetime, especially when
she wants so desperately to stay—

even though part of her has
long been curious about
the what-comes-next, about
gliding into mystery,

about how she might be
carried on an exhale into
a starry canopy, perhaps
making one final modulation

into a twinkle twinkle,
joining all those sparkling
bits of wonder so luminous
in the night sky.