My mother, who had been plump

and then obese, grew thinner each

year of her last eight, till she was

the size of a girl again. Her body

was giving itself to the air, pound

by bit, her soft flesh evaporating

in anticipation. She felt so light

when I hugged her, as if her bones

themselves were hollow as a bird’s,

so she might take flight or simply

rise over the house that imprisoned

her and leave my father puttering.

She began giving things away

of the little she had, the jade necklace

my father had given her for an engage-

ment present, a gift he no longer

remembered. Dollar bills skimmed

from grocery money, a shawl,

glass earrings, a souvenir vase.

She was stripping down, moreover

convinced he would pay no attention

to her wishes, so she carried

them out while waiting patiently

for the last door to open, then close.