Weight of memories

I remembered my grandfather, that morning 

a stranger bearing a memory of my father lay

in the living-room – a strange oxymoron –

            considering all the jasmines and over-

perfumed white roses masking the smell

            of a husk barely holding spent flesh

                        and bones eager to meet grass.

Grandfather died on a cold winter’s dusk –

A Friday – feast of Mother Mary – He was

a bony brown farmer who could tell time

            by the shadow his house threw at his

feet – & a ready smile; light on his feet, he

            ran through the hills like Perseus –

swift; with me on his shoulder

Yet when my brothers and I, lifted the

light, utilitarian coffin we hand bought,

the whole weight nearly threw us down.

            We weren’t sure how we’d carry him

to the church he was baptized in, nearly

            A mile and half up a meandering &

                        Sloping road that afternoon.

as if all of grandfather’s organs – brain, lungs,

heart, stomach, kidneys, liver and other coily

innards, that stayed up to keep him moving

            when he was alive, suddenly decided

to give up in his wake – take a well-deserved

            break and without any care sink like

                        stone – morbid, dead weight!

When it was time to take the body once called

father, I ordered a hearse; this time – I had the

memory of grandfather’s weight; my father was

            heavier, still – love, laughter, anger & all, 

with the weight of the coffin & his dead organs,

I walked the solemn road… my internal

organs – a little withered…