Harriet Harris, née Kuritsky gave up the ghost ~ May 4th, 2004

Often these days

the following genuine sentiment

Matthew Scott Harris

doth wish to share one son,

cuz fifteen years after mother succumbed

courtesy of terminal illness

I still reckon how yours truly

shrugged off proffering

tender loving care

within whose womb,

this sole son born,

thus shouldered with self scorn.

He clearly recounts

as if her death occurred yesterday...,

(when all mine troubles

moost definitely not far away)

last remaining grains sands of time.

Imagine an hourglass

where fine granules

trickle from one to another

(upper to lower) bulbed chamber

just prior when coroner decrees death,

yet an opportunity prevailed

wherein said self (me) chose

NOT to stand vigil at deathbed

of she begat

an older and younger daughter

(mine sibling sisters).

Last breath(s) expelled while mama

tethered to machines,

one or more helped diminish

agonizing, depressing, and writhing

pain and discomfort

racked once fitness

and health conscious

industrious, tenacious, and vivacious body,

which malignant terminal illness

(no joke) riddled a former robust

Arthur Murray ballroom dance instructor

(think approximately fifty years past),

whose flirtatious demeanor

instantaneously caught fancy of handsome

twenty something papa at his prime.

Before rigor mortis quickly

stole precious lifeblood, and

final minutes ticked away until

countdown to... realm of absent consciousness

scant moments before subtle transition

slipped our beloved mother into deadzone...,

neither final adieu, caress, grief...,

nor poem written...

never communicated to deceased,

not an iota of sorrowful lament

bequeathed, prevailed, relinquished...

over lifeless body (mommy dearest)

relegated limp suddenly cold stone body,

where morgue aged corpse

kept in cold storage

(despite aversion to frigid air

exhibited by mama)

preparatory to cremation process.

Rather... suppressed resentment

exhibited itself at 1148 Greentree Lane

(partial listed abode -

Matthew Scott Harris,

plus his family resided)

by mister recalcitrant,

felt ambivalent carte blanche blasé affection

regarding once young bride,

(who smothered cingular heir insync

with dada i.e. Boyce Brandon Harris),

cuz he (yours truly overstayed

livingsocial under same roof as parents,

which happenstance situated at 324 Level Road.

Both thee aforementioned

supposed biological guardians

railed, screamed, tormented (albeit verbally)

yours truly, upon mine eighteenth birthday,

when great expectations greatly exacerbating

emotionally hard times,

which ill suited poet de jure

experienced, brickbats rained

down upon these

(considerably mooch younger) lovely bones

whose anger (mine) smoldered

linkedin to constant epithets of expletives

out the mouths of those who begat me,

subsequently their livid with rage

tsunami festered within every

holy Mole (he) molecule

within mine atomized corporeal being

manifesting itself as deprivation

to embrace dear mama

attended at hospital with

both non twisted sisters;

one hailed from Woodbury, New Jersey.

and the younger staked out

modest home within Bend, Oregon,

meanwhile thee grim reaper

did patiently scythe soon

heading back to his old curiosity shop,

a rather bleak house, I now conclude.