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It is not what you remember that is surprising
it’s what you forget.
Only hours later a FB photo emerges,
or a video. And the fine details
seem to delight, then shock you.
Tiny nuances, the sound of shoes
the shriek of an animal
or the ridiculousness
of really poor young men
in bleached white polyester
and 80 peso sunglasses
dropping the candles
to awkwardly manoeuvre your coffin.
© 2017 Melinda J. Irvine
I found this scribbled page while throwing stuff out yesterday. I have no memory of writing this but obviously I dashed off a note in the hours after your funeral. I do know I drank a lot of Red Horse that night.
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I’ve been there, still am on random days. The poem says, you have more to write about, I’ll look forward to reading them.
Thank you, yes there is more to be said. I have piles and piles of scribbled notes and every so often I read a few of them then tear them up. More than a few get put back in the pile. When you’ve been there you know that random days are better than everyday. It’s like that isn’t it? In the beginning it’s every day. Thanks for stopping by and letting me ramble a little. Mel.
My ears are always open for you.