(In memory of Lillian/alias Marie)
Who will unravel me
when I have slipped past
this plane of
existence
into some other realm
possibly more benevolent.
Who will sort out the closets,
drawers, jewelry boxes,
giving away to dumpsters, charities,
and sometime friends
Who will read the poetry, the diaries,
view the boxes of photos, the albums,
a lifetime of stories written down
and committ all to the fire barrel
in the back garden
And who will, after having moved through
this process
with some angst, boredom, frustration,
and possible moments of shame,
know me?
Who will unravel me
when I have slipped past
this plane of
existence
into some other realm
possibly more benevolent.
Who will sort out the closets,
drawers, jewelry boxes,
giving away to dumpsters, charities,
and sometime friends
Who will read the poetry, the diaries,
view the boxes of photos, the albums,
a lifetime of stories written down
and committ all to the fire barrel
in the back garden
And who will, after having moved through
this process
with some angst, boredom, frustration,
and possible moments of shame,
know me?
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