Final Punctuation

moribund she wondered what the postmortem would leave other than a dead body and wounds made by the many scalpels of life operations gone wrong and stitch-ups with sutures festering at the seams as a mere mortal she had not chosen the coffin head stone and grave as one should not mess with writings on the wall of reputation and fame a quick eulogy and lies about her being heavily edited script and funeral banquet roses near the pit how she hated the thorns would have preferred a blackberry hedge dandelion and nettles for butterflies to feed a cardboard box instead of marble and wood for a worm feast of mortal impermanence better to close the shutters than holding on to a story she had narrated in full view of short lived longevity in transit of past merit and yet she lived on in memories and the grace that she deserved for always sticking to the belief and sturdy conviction embraced by compassion and kindness captured in a hole in the grounds of demise entangled in truths conjecture and refutation she watched on as they just would not let go of remembrance and the dance of the dead until they read a poem she had written as she shuddered at the misplaced apostrophe ‘live and let; die as you please’ 26th July 2021