Belle-mere - A Visual Poem

Dead.

Nothing poetic about that.

Lying there on the ground,

Sprawled out,

Eyes open.

Not much of a funeral either.

Not enough money, y'know.

Just

found a casket,

Slipped her into it.

Buried it underground.

Marked the gravestone.

Scattered petals onto it.

That was it. Rest in peace.

I was the only one at this “funeral”, if you couldn't tell.

Not very conventional.

But then again, Mama was never the conventional type herself.

She never took shit from anyone.

More

like

a punk if you

will with her

tough attitude

and Mohawk.

But that was what I loved about her,

And I guess I've taken after her too.

I cried for days after Mama died.

Don't you dare laugh.

I'm not exaggerating.

It would be full-on sniffling and sobbing in the morning

(which I'd try to stifle with a beer or two).

And just when it seemed all over,

I'd start again some hours later.

Mum?                Mum?

C                        C

o                        o

m                       m

e                         e

b                         b

a                         a

c                         c

k                        k

!                        !

*sob*

                                                                                My

                                                                                                     face

                                                                   would

                                                                                                be

                                                                                    all

                                                        blotchy

                                                                                                                        and

                                                                                    snotty

                                                            from

                                                                                                    the

                                                                            tears.

At least there was the dog to cuddle up to and have them licked away.

They say grief ain't the type to last forever.

They're right.

I tend to get on fine most days.

I joke around with the others.

I do the stuff I like to do.

It doesn't take much to make me laugh.

        now and some trigger gets pulled.

    every     then,

But

'Cause I guess Mama was the one person that really understood me.