I'll say one thing for my forbears:
they always knew their destinations.
Take Great Aunt Min now - she
who thrilled us with her parakeet
a day or two ago. She underwent
a minor medical procedure -
well, that's what we would say today.
Quite different then, of course.
She woke up on a marble slab, sure as hell
that she had gone to heaven:
so many beings floating round
robed head to toe in white, no less,
their faces gauzy, featureless. Angels,
sure as hell fire - as she aptly said.
I asked - got withering looks from mum and dad -
about the pure white wellies in her tale.
Standard issue for an angel, were they?
Not a word came in reply. She had been
to heaven - briefly - and would not
relinquish all that kudos lightly.
The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
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