Vita Died

It snowed the day Vita died
as if her body releasing life
caused a barometric shift.
Pressure dropped and swept the sky,
pressure felt in undignified months
and every ambivalent visitation
with her body in the supine position.

Pills and tubes fed the breaking
fought with futile tears
the way the clouds fight against
the chill of December,
never a month without a storm.

And we tread on salt
and pealed the ice
from windshields,
wrenched our backs
on bitter accumulation
in the days following her death
when the snow melted
and ice fell the way she became
removed from the burden of being.