Margaret's Song
January 14th 2008 09:17
Prologue:
I think this is actually a song although I don't know the tune. I wrote this after overhearing a conversation in a pool change room in Wellington, New Zealand, as one woman was talking to another about the death of a friend. I felt it was so poignant that this woman was in the midst of everyday activity when she was taken. It reminds me of my own mortality. I felt that there was also some incredible dignity in this form of death although I can't explain why: Maybe it was because she was really living up until her last seconds. So here is a poem about a woman I have never met and will never see- I have named her Margaret.
She had her make up half done and one earring on.
She was taking her grandchild to the show.
She was thinking of days to come and shopping to be done.
She was straightening out her blouse.
There was washing in the machine. The linen was half-clean.
She was in the midst of a moment.
The child came to the door with a daisy in her fist.
And called out as she walked through the house.
The bedroom door was ajar. The carpet was sparse and clean
And there were flowers round the hem of her skirt.
Her skin and clothes were there, her hair shimmering grey.
She was curled over like a child.
She had her make up half done and one earring on.
She was taking her grandchild to the show.
She was flesh and love and bone.
She was beautiful and alone
Margaret, you were in the midst of a moment.
I think this is actually a song although I don't know the tune. I wrote this after overhearing a conversation in a pool change room in Wellington, New Zealand, as one woman was talking to another about the death of a friend. I felt it was so poignant that this woman was in the midst of everyday activity when she was taken. It reminds me of my own mortality. I felt that there was also some incredible dignity in this form of death although I can't explain why: Maybe it was because she was really living up until her last seconds. So here is a poem about a woman I have never met and will never see- I have named her Margaret.
She had her make up half done and one earring on.
She was taking her grandchild to the show.
She was thinking of days to come and shopping to be done.
She was straightening out her blouse.
There was washing in the machine. The linen was half-clean.
She was in the midst of a moment.
The child came to the door with a daisy in her fist.
And called out as she walked through the house.
The bedroom door was ajar. The carpet was sparse and clean
And there were flowers round the hem of her skirt.
Her skin and clothes were there, her hair shimmering grey.
She was curled over like a child.
She had her make up half done and one earring on.
She was taking her grandchild to the show.
She was flesh and love and bone.
She was beautiful and alone
Margaret, you were in the midst of a moment.
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