A Writing on the Net SM
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Perpetual care, Magnolia Cemetery, Georgianna, Alabama
By Beverly Z. Davis
Copyright 2000 Beverly Z. Davis
About the ways the writer's family members met death.

My mother met God,
saw His face, she told me so.
My grandmother took the dog with her
before her last wisp in and out
"come on, Spot, let's go home."
My father, heavy erratic breaths,
gave out a ballooning voice
like pumping of foot pedals
on an old parlor organ.
My sister, weak into her last sleep, woke
to request "Please change the channel,
this one's macabre."
Aunt Emma, meals-on-wheels found her
took to her bed, fully clothed, arms crossed
toes pointed straight up
... just the casket was missing.
Uncle S.J., none knew what he said
found with his shotgun nearby
as were parts of him.
Uncle John Mack, home on the red clay hill,
battled alone that night.
Chair legs reaching upward,
bed pillows oozing feathers, blankets bunched and huddled,
unlaced boots with tongues extended.
To be continued.