Her daughter's graduation picture sits up on the mantel
In a modest wooden frame. Relic of another era, it shows
Her with bigger hair and thinner eyebrows than the girls
Have these days. "She's been gone for seven years,"
Theresa says. "The drugs..." She stops. There's nothing
More that must be said. The house is quiet, almost
Lifeless. Little light gets through the shades. "It isn't right
When parents end up living longer than their kids." My gaze
Shifts back to Theresa. I say I agree.