Therapy

186. 10 March 2022

Well, that’s a dumb place to keep my insufficiently mourned

Dead. In my bladder? What was I thinking?

It’s hardly safe or salubrious

And meant I was constantly leaking

Under stress or just getting back home

And having to gallop up the stairs to pee.

*

My grandmother, my father and my husband,

All sitting in my bladder where I hid them

When I didn’t have time to mourn properly

Or even cry when I wanted to.

I put them in there and shut the door.

It’s hardly dignified.

Nagyi, tessek, you can come out now.

Daddy, come out, have some cider

(very strong, ordered in crates from Adnams in Suffolk).

Bearish, come on, you’ve sat there long enough,

Smoking and drinking Coke.

They’re smiling at me, not fazed at all.

I’m crying and laughing at the daftness of it all.

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