Aftermath

At the rate they were rifling through the house
It wouldn’t take them long for them to clean out
Everything of any monetary value she’d left behind

He watched them through the picture window
Wincing at the crushing frenzy of their grasping hands
Scavengers seizing the objects holding sentimental value for her
Stashing them like greedy prospectors in purses and grocery bags

Even if she needed money at the end, she’d once told him
She’d never part with any of these, for her, nearly sacred relics
Now being snatched by relatives, many who barely knew her
Most never having visited in her final years
Strangers racing over what seemed like her barely cold body

No, rather than hold onto anything she’d left behind
He wished more to hold onto her now she was gone