The Fireflies of Iowa

My mother has fixed
her house up the way she always wanted it, took her
25 years, as long
as I’ve been away.

Wood floors,
furniture that still smells new,
kitchen appliances show-room shiny,
fussily decorated bedrooms
nobody sleeps in, clocks around

every corner
all ticking in unison, every hair-raising minutia
down to the special-order sheaths
over the tissue boxes.