to my great aunt, i never knew your name

i never met you, but i
touched the things you left
behind
a dim apartment you never
owned, books you
read more than once,
maybe even more than
three times.
the family bible in the
drawer of the bedside table,
and the cold carpet that
you stood on every morning
as you crawled out of bed.
you must have meant something
to somebody,
that's why we were
there, to clean up after you,
my mothers aunt
my grandmothers sister. and someone elses daughter
i got to choose one
thing to take. just one.
i took the brass sculpture
of an otter.
i looked at it, and thought
that's where you were now.
inside.
so i took you, and
kept you alive.