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She was a happy child, say the pictures of her smile
on the wall of fake paneling in the house;
a smart girl, too, say the many awards
in a messy room; and a very busy girl
says the absence of her laughter
in the house, the quiet home;
but not a girl for abandoning, say the belongings
cluttering her room and the narrow hallway.
A memory lives within her, say the notes
left on the desk and the pictures
free of dust, and she had talent
say the folders of music on the music stand.
Money was scarce, say the bills on the table
and the contract for a loan to her sister,
and the work plenty, says the list on the table.
This was her home, say the height markings on the doorway.
Something went right, says the report care
in the pile of papers. Belongings in the hallway
say she was in a busy haste; the bills
on the table say she knew more than they told.
And the talent? Its efforts are strewn across the room
like a future in process—the hard work,
a folder open to the “difficult”section,
the instrument. Something went right, they say.