to go,
for blue hue skin,
to be dead for 20 minutes
at 22 years old.
Twenty two.
Years old mocking her
years lost.
Her hair was brown--
not gray.
Skin porcelain--
unwrinkled
How dare death make haste
to take daughters,
little sisters.
Dying slowly is what living is,
what she was doing.
What she should still be
doing.
But she is gone
while her vessel lays dressed up
in a casket,
out of place.
A crowd in disbelief.
As a brother falls apart--
weeps for his other half,
he will grow old without her.
As parents crumble from the inside out
burying their daughter--
outliving her.