loss

A statement against housework after loss

A statement against housework after loss

I winna wash ma windas or bleach the dining room screens,
I winna fash wi recycling or clean up cat sick stains,
I winna pay the coonsil tax cause they can a go hang.
I winna bother wi ma coupon, there’s nithin I can buy?

I winna buy flooers for Tommy’s grave but who will bury me?
Fit if we’re a incinerated, like in Nagasaki?
Fit if I’m in hiven and I canna find my Tommy?
Fit if there’s different hivens, depending how you die?

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Bad Widow

My husband just died but at least I’m taking it well. Everybody tells me so. ‘Oh Julie, you’re just handling this all so well’, they gush, willing it to be true. Insisting upon it.

At first I tried to play along; I wanted to believe. The love of my life died at 43 after a grueling duel with leukaemia, but whatever, I’m so strong. I’m so competent. Look at me, I’m handling it. Just like you all want me to.

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Entwined

It was early one afternoon and Paula’s family appeared at the hospital window, her twin brother perched on her Dad’s shoulders to see inside. The hospital grounds around them were lush with the recent shower of rain and a string of droplets from broken guttering edged the window. She stood up and wobbled her way to the end of the cot to get closer to the faces she knew. The glass kept them distant and she longed to be on the other side. Her Mum, just in vision mouthed,

“Be a good girl,” and smiled.

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Keywords: 
family, loss, defiance, conviction