(A repost from 2019)

My favorite aunt is dying.. cancer, quiet and consuming as a flame..

Seven short weeks ago she was easily doing an hour of step aerobics, unaware of this intruder, this murderer within. Now she's lifted from bed like a rag doll.

She is my mom, well, a near twin—only smaller, funnier, serpent sly, more heavenly childish, sapient with sweet attractive grace and modest pride.

I am in total awe of her. We're kindred spirits, two sillies among the dull and endlessly serious.

I feel her, see her, day by day, slipping away like the hastening angel of heaven foretold.

This is too big for me, too awful and too close.

I am struck helpless, nothing moves, I sit, hardly feeling, and watch her sleep. Death's cruel process suddenly made visible.

I silently rage at the loss of it—my loudest vehemence pointed to this ravenous, lurking enemy pursuing her inwardly like a swarm of deadly hornets accidentally composed.

40 and still stunningly beautiful, she lies surrounded by computers, iPads, phones, faxes, intercoms, notepads, friends and care-givers. Her life reduced to escaping pain and making arrangements for her soon to be orphaned children 4 and 6.

Fentanyl and other pain blockers are her nourishment and seem to work better in the daylight as lawyers garner powers of attorney, bankers conjure trusts and estate planners build foundations to protect small children from a mothers loss.

As if they could replace a single hug
.
.
Songs for this (Gospel music):
Order My Steps by The Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir
Angel by Sarah McLachlan
Jesus Loves Me by Whitney Houston

Seasons change suddenly,
Friendships can fade from spring buds,
To crumbling fall leaves.

People leave, they tend to take the fire with them,
Make sure you keep spare logs hidden,
Sometimes it snows in spring.

why does the past feel warm?

                         could it be an illusion of

my room temperature mind?

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                               A Failure to Practice Caritas
                         for a Certain Fellow Human Being

                            "I have never wished a man dead,
           but I have read some obituaries with great pleasure."

                               -attributed to Mark Twain

When God's good time puts an end to that snake
And obsequies are read over that foul mistake
And the interment prayers are reverently spake
Oh, let us not forget the wooden stake

she was tranquility in the morning’s early,
  moonbeams dripping red lights
and her eyes shifting softly,
she’s my favorite time of day when she smiles and moans
whispers and sees
she’s my favorite time of day
wrapped in moonbeams
dripping red lights
in my solitude and hers
my peace
   in her...

The news is a c#%&
That son of a b@#$!
They don't give a f$%!
about talking s&#@
That girl is a s!@$
and that dude's a d!@&
But I blame this boll@&$s
On tabloid pr!@&s