When my mother died
I did not succumb to grief
rather the opposite, it was relief
I wanted to be overwhelmed
to demonstrate a filial flow of tears
dry eyes triumphed over social fears
The truth is her life was set in aspic
the repertoire of stories repeatedly told
the only objects I would have valued, long ago sold
So if I imagine that feeling as a place
it is a saccharine sitting room
as stuck and unchanging as a tomb
I carried bits of it away to remind me
a group of disparate ducks now grace my bookshelf
tiny, sculptural memento mori – notes to self
that she was gone and feeling ended
long before the final breath was drawn
and being now the eldest, I entered a new dawn…
© Andrew Wilson, 2024
Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Punam invites us to write about Grief – paeansunplugged in Poetics. My poem is about grief long dissolved before the loss itself and I hope I will not be judged harshly for it…