She pruned her tulips every Tuesday
(She really liked routine)
And gazed at the stars at night
And she thought “that one bright star” was Jupiter
Because once in her childhood
Someone had told her that it was.
And she still believed in doing things the old-fashioned way,
Like praying before meals
And singing hymns on Sunday
Which the neighbors could hear through the open windows.
And sometimes, she would sip homemade lemonade
On a summer afternoon
While she wore her lemonade-making apron.
And when she sat on the porch, it was always
In the spot where her mother had her sit
When they took a family picture.
And maybe everything about her was peculiar,
Like how, in the hospital toward the end,
She would sing songs from her childhood.
Because, she said, it reminded her of a time
That wasn't scary