Nana

 

That was a bed

No stains there though

'what happened here Nana?'

'your grandfather's whisky, love,

I've never been able to get it out.'

That mattress, of course, is gone

Where? If it's not in landfill,

someone's got a whisky stain,

The origin of which is clear to them

I should have asked how whisky can even stain to begin with,

 

Now it's another bed and miles so far away

And that is a body, yes

And still she breathed, yes

But stubborn every day of her life

She was stubborn on the day of her death

I squandered the lobsters she'd sneak into my palms

No lasting memory of anything less than pure love

and prayer. I miss her prayers more than life,

and were she not such a staunch protestant I’d beg for her intercessions now.

And in that room as she held our breath,

Holding our attention more in the drugged twilight than she'd have ever permit in life

For a woman who hated attention, she had ours for three days

And when finally it was over,

We let out a sigh, but there was no relief.

 

The pregnant globe of the young doctor's belly seemed to glow when she explained

she was nana's palliative care physician,

the expected foetus ready to drop at any second, as if waiting for some space to

move, and as she helped Nana move to Methodist heaven, she was poised to usher

beautiful new life into the world.

 

ⓒ 'Moth 2020-2024