This Is How

This is how I always remember her face fresh away rubble dust desperate looking disappointed and not the crone she has become free from that war except every day calling her sisters discussing details curly shavings from wood soft splinters showing themselves as fingers on hands knobby knuckles not fitting into mouths long ago forgetting about the bodies more about what they did and how it passed. Lots of grandchildren and now they barely visit never asking about it at all. Just as well those days are over busy forgetting.