She laid the coins on my eyes - cold… she did not think to warm them for the dead He removed the leaches from my whiter than white skin - do they not know I can feel the flow of blood from my limbs? She combed my hair with a rough, horse-hair brush - did it matter that it pulled on my scalp? Now they have placed me into my new home: pine scented. Scratchy cloth on my face. It is so dark now can she hear me as I whisper? “Goodbye, I will love you, always.”