Her Room

Presbyterians and others have drunk toasts
in Monica's old corn-yellow bedroom.
Mom too slept there the first night we moved in;
dad would have howled had he known.

The walls fell and as we changed its spots and stripes.
Now eating breakfast there most mornings,
watching squirrels out side the windows.

We inherited her dreamland
with glass doorknobs and emptied closets.
The room, and we, testified that she awoke
where I now sit drinking my morning coffee.