Requiem for a Mother-in-Law Gone Too Soon – Part 10

Son-in-law,

tell the doers

I have already

ferried across

the Life-River

to the other side,

where worldly worries

and other mundane cares

are mere haze

in the wistful dreams

of yesteryear –

you may dress me

in the most

gorgeous

and expensive

chiffon

lace

silk or

brocade,

it is all

like water

on the plumes

of a duck

to me;

a godforsaken bride

emasculated

the primal fruit

of my womb,

the blood-clot

I carried

with pain

and anguish

for nine moons,

the blood-knot

I carried

in the very sack

of my womb:

he was my pride

until the woebegone

doer came

my way,

smiling and

growling

like the bitch

I readily sensed

she would soon

become;

then I was banished

and rendered homeless

and made to live

like a hobo

with complete

strangers…

it was not

her fault

at all;

Son-in-Law,

I am glad

you came,

if even

a tad

too late,

battered

by sorrow

and shame

all because

the primal fruit

of my womb

turned his back

on me,

sided

with the impish

princess

of the diamond

diadem…

I have been

burned up

like tinder

encased

in a hard

mahogany wood

carved into

the glorious shape

of a Lamborghini….

Alas,

I am

Dead

I am

Gone;

I am not coming back

this way

anytime

soon;

in fact,

I may never come

this way ever

again;

I have had

enough of your

snorts

and squirts,

enough of your

aspersions

and innuendoes

to last me

three lifetimes

already, doer;

my roots are

deep down

the earth,

whatever is built

of sand

and stone

shall soon crumble

back to dust

and ashes

once more,

just as I am;

nothing means

anything to me

anymore;

I have stacked up

tons of wormwood

only to be buried

under a chunk

of ice…

leave me alone,

spitter of insults

and unspeakable

words of abuse,

leave me alone,

queen-mother of rudeness

and insolence,

you may bury me

in a Mercedes-carved

casket,

I care not

a whit,

I have already crossed

into this light

of unbearable bliss

I wish

I had known

and been told of

beforehand,

so I could have left you

sooner than later

with that cancerous fruit

of my very lifeblood

who looked on

like a pillar-of-salt

while that daughter

of Styx

trampled

and crushed

the bones of

my soul,

the very essence

of my being

and my

dignity,

or whatever

was left

of the same –

Sonny,

why not bury me

in the stark

bloody nudity

whence I came?

I am sick

and tired

of belated guilt,

hypocrisy

dressed up

saintly

like

remorse –

you may

bury me

in a pricey casket

whose cost

is as weighty

as a ton

of gold,

what do I care,

stiff

scrunchy

and dry

like tinder

ready

to be lit

by fireflies –

11/29/18