The last day he was upright, I helped my sister
heave his weight. He didn’t make it to the toilet—
hadn’t in weeks—but he insisted. The horrid,

empty smell was wholly new, and broke me.
He’d eaten nothing for days, what was there left
to void? I gagged as it seeped down his bird leg,

then left my sister to the mess. He was still alert
enough to know that I had turned my back,
and he was hurt, though hurting worse in other ways,

he never mentioned it, taking to bed, for good,
shortly after, leaving me to regret what everyone
regrets after death: the way things were when

there was still any chance of fixing things;
the fact that no one tried.

– Katherine Fallon