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My Mothers Undertaker
The hole- so wide and lonely,
Is so unjustifiably small,
I imagine her decay slowly...
The crowd weeps at the door,
But I must not cry-
I am the undertaker.
The service- monotone,
The crowds grieving groans,
The shovel makes my hands ache,
But my heart must not break-
For I am the undertaker.
The rain falls,
And living is a chore,
Meaningless words emerge,
As unknown faces converge,
The many condolences I take,
And the consolidation I must fake-
Because I am the undertaker.
The coffin is lowered,
Dull Petals drifting …
But I must not lose my gripping-
I am the undertaker.
The clouds are gray,
The grass yellow,
My mask cannot stay,
And my tears are mellow,
Because I am the undertaker-
My mothers undertaker.
Copyright ©
Maria Mortimer
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