Candle light like honey leaks from the wax
A room, thin as paper and forged like a signature
Made for purpose, intention:
This room will show the corpse of a loved one.
Yes, that’ll do ‘em for now.
The old woman’s no longer a Nan,
Or a wife, cleaner, ruthless bingo go-getter
Gardener, cook, crossword-solver,
Mother, sister, letter checker
But child, yes.
Clutched yet again by darkness
Do you fear her, envy her
Because she is dead?
Aged and worn, you can see it in the cracks, but now
So carefree she allows herself to rot away
Lost like a cut tree,
Chopped and ambition pulled
From the roots
From the very moment of decision