I lay the flat of my hand against my breast. Feel for a beat beneath my palm. Once I heard someone say ‘god will never take you where the grace of god will not protect you’. My lifeline strains against my breastbone. I wonder if god ever really wanted the capital. I have one so perhaps so should He. I and He and my Heart makes We. I look at the woman dead and wonder if His grace is protecting me. Or his grace. Or h i s grace. Or if I am all alone with her last breath as it heads for the open window. Death took her long and mean. Sharp and icy. Took the last just now and left me standing in my mother’s room. My feet bleeding all that I am into the carpet while I search for my own mortality under my thin cotton shirt.