My mother sleeps in my bed,
my father sleeps
in a ground starting to freeze.
I wake in a moon-lit room
not meant for sleeping.
What else to do but let go
of his wheelchair and inhalers,
his starched pajamas pressed
and resting in his cherry dresser?

–Marianne Worthington,
Bigger Than They Appear:
Anthology of Very Short Poems
(Accents Publishing)