what does she have?

one of the saddest things to

bear witness to

is the sudden realisation

of their own mortality.

she says that she’s old

and she doesn’t want to die.

she calls aged care homes

a prison,

and she doesn’t want to collapse into the arms of death

from inside a cage.

that daughter that she stabbed in the back,

again and

again,

is the one cleaning her blood

smeared

on the tiled floor.

the daughter she leeched the

life force out of

(a parental parasite)

cries at the thought

of her mother

laying bleeding,

screaming in agony.

mortality is fickle;

her body now

hunched over,

her legs not in agreement

with her mind.

her hands

pale

shaking

blue veins protruding,

a manifestation

of her temporality.

the sadness I find is not just in

witnessing her declination;

but in watching how my mother

is being ground to the bone,

tiredness haloed under her

eyes.

her loyalty to the woman

who birthed her,

who didn’t love her,

is heroism

haloed 

in my eyes.

– in the decline of her life, my grandmother still seeks selfish gratification for her own gain. but watching her realise that her life is nearing the end, is a bullet to my heart, because the only artifacts she has detailing her existence is the daughter who still cries over her mother’s past and present treatment of her, a son she has warped into a man whose life is governed by the manipulation of those around him; and two grandchildren who grew up witnessing this familial torment with friends who have left her because her mouth spread hatred, lies and gossip. what does she have? that is the sadness.

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