When My Mother Died

by George Anderson

In her open
coffin in the
basement of
the chapel on
Sherbrooke
Street in
early winter
she seems
so incredibly
small. vulnerable.
layered with shit
on her face I had
never imagined.

friends & curious
acquaintances
we had not seen
for years, sometimes
decades, suddenly
appear.

mom,

i explain to her
in my adolescent
bafflement &
grief,

'i never got to
know you'…

Two days later
during the service
conducted in church
the minister reads from
psalm 23, my father
behind me whispering
clearly into my ear,
'fucken bullshit!,
fucken bullshit!'


*George Anderson's blog:
http://georgedanderson.blogspot.com/