Gail Peck

Emptying Nana’s House

What was it I thought?
To touch something

you never felt before–
I had my hand in a drawer,

and I slid the object to the front.
Nana’s left breast

she seldom wore,
and after a while, not at all.

Before she died, I’d look
at her in her chair with one side

of her top caved in.
She’d beat the cancer—

and lived until ninety-two.
Think of that word beat,

bruised comes to mind
black and blue. But

in this case it means escape.
After that surgery,

she seemed so tired
but made the trip to us for the holidays.

When the big dinner was over,
I’d rest, and she’d play Monopoly

with the rest of the family
and always won. Was it luck?

I’d lie on the couch
and listen to the laughter.

The fire crackling
and making the room so warm.

Gail Peck is the author of many poetry collections. Her work has been in The Southern Review, Nimrod, Greensboro Review, and elsewhere. Poems and essays have been nominated for Best of the Net.