Post mortem

Shirts in the closet.Keys left on the counter.They say that hearing is the last thing to go, so we tell you what you can no longer feel: "I'm going to turn you over now."We describe each step, nothing more.It isn't personal.We don't know you, though we say your name as we wash your body.I know that you are loved.They're just outside the door.Steam rises up into fluorescent lighting.What would you make of this quiet room of women?Washing you gently, turning you slowly.