The Forensic Science of Grief

You breathed your last breath from the air

in this room;

that threadbare Persian carpet

holds flakes from your skin;

hairs from your head

corkscrew the dented cushions

scattered and idly waiting on the sofa;

bed linen scented with your sweat

the goose down doona that stole

your last warmth;

sleep spit and tears

human moisture that permeates

the acrylic layers of your pillow;

an eyebrow hair wedged in the tweezers;

a clipped nail that flew off

somewhere out of sight;

that new toothbrush used only once;

your flannel and towel still drying out;

the wet press footprint on the bathroom mat;

the talcum powdered slippers

abandoned under the brass bed.

Each moment of everyday

we shed ourselves

shed dead cells and renew –

a cycle of shedding

until the last

shedding of ourselves

dead person's feet


1 Comment

Filed under Death, Poem

One response to “The Forensic Science of Grief

  1. I think this is a great piece. You have captured so well the little details of someone recently passing, the small and often insignificant things that are discovered long after, if at all. Thank you for posting this. I know it is a difficult theme, but you did it (I feel) with great respect.


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