The ‘Whiter Shade of Pale’ was playing downstairs;
it was a strange grab from the house of her childhood.
She went into to her parents’ bedroom and stopped
at the end of their bed to gaze at the two pillows;
side by side, the indentation of her father’s head still on one,
the other fluffed up;
typical mother, early to rise.
The shock of that: the pillows carrying their personalities,
and full of the emptiness of their passing;
she had to leave.
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