Safeway roasted chicken ghoulishly dry so unappetizingly displayed
untouched in its black plastic coffin with clear top, bagged salad never opened
withered apples Velveeta cheese a quart of skim some old fries off-brand ketchup orange juice
the cheap kind no pulp all purchased by the nurse’s aide after my uncle died
my culinary artiste aunt rescued from cardiac arrest during
the coming attractions at the movies, retrieved with only her long-term memory
intact and now of course unable to produce those sleight-of-hand dishes
she unveiled like magic, always ready in the freezer should company drop by
cupboards stocked with Godiva chocolates perfect stone fruit melon artichokes
exotics her bespoke clothes gone from her closets and her bathrooms empty
of their thick plush matching towels by the time we visited, so we weren’t surprised
when my aunt’s live-in caregiver stroked and died in the condo from a brain bleed so stately
paced that she dialed 911 for herself before she herself succumbed
and left my aunt alone    again

About the Author

Laura Celise Lippman’s work has appeared in over forty journals. She is a co-author of the book Writing While Masked, Reflections of 2020 and Beyond. She attended Bryn Mawr College and received her M.D. from the Medical College of Pennsylvania. She practiced medicine and raised two children in the Pacific Northwest. Since retirement, she continues to take poetry courses in Seattle. She enjoys the outdoors and sharing her wonder at the natural world.