We died one by one,
each plumper than the mirror
saw us. We exited obligingly,
rattling key chains and
cocktail jewelry, rehearsing
our ghostly encores.

Glad to be rid of pincurls
and prayers, bunions
burning between
ironed sheets—we sang
our laments, praised God
and went our way

quietly, were mourned
in satin and chrysanthemums,
whiskey and cake, old gossip
evaporating into cautionary tales.
Does it matter who went
first? Corinna or Fay,

heartache or coronary,
a reckless scalpel or
a careless life—whoever was left
kept count on the dwindling
rosary: Suzanna, Kit.
Mary. Violet. Pearl.

We all died of insignificance.

First printed in Ploughshares, Fall 2001. ©2001 by Rita Dove. Appeared in Rita Dove’s Collected Poems 1974-2004 (W. W. Norton, New York & London, 2016).