My Grandmother's Death, a sad poem, c/c?

[nashat]

She wouldn't remove her false teeth.
Still too proud.
Even with her face shrinking,
shrunken,
the skin collapsing around her skull.
Liver cancer,
Bladder cancer.
My God it had spread
all through her.
In the nursing home
she kept asking for my father.
I would cry.
He will come next week,
I want him now.
Oh, Grandma, I said,
Just hang on,
But you know,
Eventually she couldn't.
Don't cry she said.
I never saw her alive again.
The funeral was ghastly.
I remember my fathers knees as
he sat next to me.
His knees kept knocking
and his head was down.
There was obscene organ music piped in
through little tinny speakers.
The lights were pink.
Closed casket, she wouldn't
have wanted to be seen.
At the graveside there was
astroturf over the dirt
that soon would cover the box
she would be in ever after.
My father's knees shook more.
We didn't wait for the dirt to be moved in,
I don't think he could have stood it.

[berthold100]

yes

[bradleah]

Very raw. To record the "tidbits" as death nears for a loved one, even if they irritate, is to bring the sealing of precious memories to the ending of a book. This is a poem you will need to look at later and refine more for the rawness demands it in my opinion to rid unneeded lines like "ghastly funeral." Still, damn good as it stands now, my compliments.

[hahnee]

Hi Beth,

This poem sits like a lead weight on the heart. Cruel disease, death, survivor's guilt . . . all contribute to an open wound. Knees are used as expert synecdoche, standing in not only for your father but his guilt at arriving late. The tastelessness of "obscene organ music," "tinny speakers" and pink lights stand in as real world affronts to her memory, even as you (and your father) struggled to come to grips with your loss. For anyone who has ever stood at graveside and seen a loved one entering the city of the dead, the sense of loss is overwhelming. The poem's final lines place the reader there. I know your heartache . . .

Now is not the time to edit your poem, it is the time to savor, to remember, to give thanks for blessings made more poignant by their impermanence. A well-written poem and valuable bit of catharsis for the poet. This is what makes your writing so special.


Remember me in sun splash silvered hills,
In pensive moments lazing by a steam,
In reveries that flow in gilded rills
To foaming seas and to the land of dream.
Remember me, but only with a smile,
And sigh at myosotis in the lea;
Partake of its one blossoming a while,
Its blue corolla and its mystery.
Remember me beside a long lost lane
Of twilight-ribboned indigo and gray
Aglint in fading shades of ochre stain
Belonging neither to the night nor day.
Do these things darling in my memory
And I will know that you remember me.

[eanraig]

YOWEE after today in a later posting, this crushed me,,, no bad on you sis. Oh my gosh, I can't even think of losing her. In fact at 86, I hope she lives longer than me, but she is healthy.

Holy cow what a deeply moving expression of losing. I need tissues.