As I approach
Her coffin
The flashbacks take over
She sits up
Asking the same questions
Again and again
What is my name
How old am I
What am I doing
In her house
The half dozen
Collected for the send off
Laugh and agree
She hasn't looked this good
In years
A stranger
Pretends they were friends
Asks us to believe
In comfortable fairy tales
And it isn't her death
Bothering me
We all get to try that
Once at least
But having this to show
For a century of breath
Is indeed something
To cry about
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