Spoons of Death

Aunty died on a normal day
and I thought I would keep
my tears at bay
because really she’s just asleep

And sleep trumps that endless light,
the fog, blinding and bright
that keeps reminding her
that she can’t remember
if it’s June or December.

But then I remember what she forgot,
there’s quite a lot,

little white flowers in a ravine
and bright walks to the cemetery
visits with those no longer seen

the smooth tombs
like a collection of spoons
holding more memories
than our cold rotted bodies

pear trees in the backyard
the fruit sweet but hard

dog decals and kiln-fired mugs
and night-sparkling lightning bugs

a buttered hamburger bun
mac and cheese with corn
vanilla wafers and sweet tastings
of pink butter frostings

There is history
about my aunt I don’t know
her life is a mystery
but she watched me grow

Near the end
I didn’t want to visit
and be reminded
of things she would forget

But now I wish with all my tears
that I had asked
who she was when I wasn’t there.


2 thoughts on “Spoons of Death

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