~Julia H. Fonte

Death had woven its shades of raven
into her quilts of life. A nurse,
she knew what to expect, graciously
partnering with me for her care.

Gray-green eyes, deep like quarry
lakes, speckled blue under gilded rays;
and though she was content enough,
they held a touch of resignation.

During rare moments she would share
about working in a nursing home
all those years—opening windows
for souls of the dying.

I left hospice, returning to visit
on a cold but radiant day.
Her bed, now tucked under a window
within a cozy first-floor alcove,

was like a garden of quilted pastels
without a bit of black.
The sun’s magic turned her eyes
as blue as cornflowers that day,

and they glistened as she leaned in
close to confide she was ready,
whispering with a knowing smile,
“I’m waiting for my sister to visit.

That night, I’ll leave the window open.
Just a crack.”