Bitter with the Swede

Great-grandmother is wasting away.
Pass the head and you’ll be alright.
That’s what I’ve heard.
Otherwise, the damned thing will regenerate.
What is the purpose of these parasites?
The same could be asked of Man.
It’s all a matter of perspective.
Why do people have to die?

I mostly remember the toys and sweets.
Only vaguely do I recall her face
which could be mixed up
with an actress I once saw in an old movie.

The nerves in her cheek were dead,
severed by a surgeon
to spare her from the pain
caused by some exotic malady.
Tic douleroux.
So if a fly landed
on the right side of her face
she wouldn’t notice
like the people in documentaries
about places like India
and Ethiopia.

She’s gone now.
So are all of her children.
Now they live
only in fading sepia photographs
and more rapidly fading memories.

Someday, my father and mother,
my sisters and brother,
all of my friends and loved ones,
wife yet to be,
children not yet born,
and I will die
and give birth to worms.
Curious cycle.

From ‘Cigarettes, Whiskey and Armageddon
(Musings on Death, Grief and Loss)
© 2019