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Apr 2018
Aunt Kathleen died.

He'd known her since
he could remember.

He could picture her
carrying lino
on her shoulder
down the stairs
in the shop.

Or the time she let him
stay the weekend
after uncle Sidney died
and he went to some
religious meeting
up the West End.

Or when she met his mother
when she was going with him
for a brain scan
after the breakdown.

Or the day he went
with his mother
to uncle Sidney's funeral
and saw how broken up
aunt Kathleen was.

Now he was at her funeral
with family and friends
and he and his brother
sat at the back
amidst crying and weeping.

The coffin was on trestles.
Flowers on top.

Music played
and songs she liked
her daughter chose.

He gazed
at her surving sisters
except his mother
too ill to come.

Time had aged
them all now
sitting in the front row
each waiting
(unknowingly)
for their time to go.
Terry Collett
Written by
Terry Collett  71/M/England
(71/M/England)   
155
 
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