just the clothes 

a trash bag doesn't hold as much
as you think it will. in my aunts' house
we try to manage just the clothes today.
there is never just clothes. my brother,
my father, and me flit between rooms. 
us, with the task of emptying the place. 
she was the last of her three sisters, our aunts.
they are technically my great aunts
but i think there are too many qualifiers 
in family words. they tended me & that's all
i need you to know. there is so much physical stuff 
that none of us know how & where to go.
i keep saying, "just the clothes" as if maybe
that could ground our wandering. handfuls
of stale mints. burst batteries in dead machines.
my father is searching for the deed to the house.
instead, he finds bank statements & her birth certificate. 
our aunt's tiny footprints as shadows on the softened paper. 
i become the only one harvesting clothes.
something about oldest not-daughters. 
on the railings is the last load of laundry our aunt did herself. 
nightrobes, stained in strange & fresh ways. 
i feel as if i've done something wrong when
i take them down & let another trash bag
devour them. i want to put them back. a gesture
towards return. when we were small & the house was 
clean & nested in. our footfalls are muffled by
the thick carpets. i pull trash bag after trash bag. 
so many clothes. my father says, "i don't want
to throw her life away." i think of her 
ten or so years ago. her peach pink lipstick
& permed hair. i don't know what she'd say
to us here like this. i try to conjure an answer. 
permission. but if i'm being honest, i think 
she would be the stubborn one. not like her sisters
who i think would throw away half the house eagerly.
i could imagine her saying, "not yet, not yet" 
to everything. i feel the same way. i make a pact
with her that i will keep more than we should. 
we do not finish packaged the clothes. 
the house is spring-cool. before we go 
we stand in the yard. the pear tree, smaller
than i remember it. the magnolia 
getting ready to bloom. i promise my dad,
"i'll come back with you until it's done."