At the end of her life,
when the fire
lifted her house away,
and her left side
vanished in a stroke,
and she woke
in that white room
without apron or shoes,
she searched each face
including his
until she found her twice-
divorced daughter, the one
she’d always said wasn’t
over Fool’s Hill yet,
and, taking her hand
as if they’d all along
been close, began
to call the name
the frightened daughter
never heard before,
not father or brother.
-Wesley McNair