I miss the home of before death
before the hospital trip
stripped me
of you
and the lightness
that comes with youth—
innocence.

Your favorite pastel pink pantsuit
glittered
in the imaginary viewing that we had
before you were lowered
into the dark
rain-soaked dirt
of no more see-you-later-alligators.

Is this your new home?
I wondered.

I miss the home of before death—
I miss you
standing before
our chocolate brown apartment building door,
waving and smiling to me from inside
to say goodbye.