Note from Louise: I wrote this after my beloved grandfather passed away last year. He had a high-grade glioma (brain tumour) and died peacefully at home after being nursed by my mum for several weeks. After writing about him a little yesterday, I wanted to share.
by Louise at Minimal Belle
I cleaned out my grandparents’ garage today,
to make room
for my mother’s things–
two double beds, bluish-black sofas,
antique dresser units,
all of the cumbersome kitchen essentials.
I tried to be ruthless, without throwing away anything of importance.
But is an old red petrol can not important,
given the circumstances?
Seven months ago he left,
never seeing the temperate last few days
His navy-handled shears still hang on the wall,
beside the old club cricket bat
and the Christmas wreath that my mother
crafted from his coffin flowers.
The garage was cold and blowing dust
this afternoon, on account of
the last gasps of the Atlantic storm.
Life and death cannot, by wishing,
nor by the desperate wrenching
of the galaxies, be separated.
They are strangers inhabiting the same house…
The once-gleaming fountain in the middle of the yellowed lawn
is grey and stained. The garden is not large,
but she doesn’t walk that far anymore. The shallow steps are too much to manage.
In the rusted rainwater of his fountain there are brown leaves, curled
like arthritic fingers or tiny, sunken pirate ships
in a long-abandoned game….
(Continue reading: Minimal Belle)