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Christened as averred one Harriet Kuritsky on November 13th
nineteen thirty five. The youngest of four with only one brother
Whose exit from this world from a terminal illness she did not survive.
The following emotions communicating heartfelt grief. Practically
vanquished as like my existence turned a new leaf.
A recurring abysmal grief stricken state
still consumes my entire being of late
these perpetual tears of sadness seem not to a-bate
since grim reaper brandished scythe
signature sign of a deadlocked fate.
Twas about 11:00 a.m. 2005 that third of May
our dearly beloved mother
fought tooth and nail to keep death at bay
(as recounted by eldest and youngest sisters who elected to remainon
vigil that day), nonetheless rigor mortis upper hand
brought (supposed) painless and swift death her diseased and
emaciated riddled body gone lifeless and ashen gray.
This only heir misses his mom more than plaintive words can spell
with agonizingly pained heart and soul, that rents asunder this psyche
pell-mell no amount of weeping can quiet and quell.
Cathartic for me to give you a posthumous ode conveyed in an easy
to read poetic code helps accept finality and permanent loss now only
retrievable from nostalgic memories identified as that childhood home
and favorite abode. Her cremated ashes no longer remain sealed in
nondescript box white, powdery and chalk like material devoid of any
vestigial semblance to her once living and vibrant self, that unique
persona pulverized and vaporized, those dust particles didst get
scattered to the four winds, (housed former svelte and tall Arthur
Murray ball-room dance teacher, a half-century plus prior to demise,
which beauty, charm and grace quickly caught the attention of my
father courted and eventually proposed to young flirt and tease of a
gal) inert organic matter now represents sole residual embodiment
reduced to dust and near nothingness former corporeal being of
blood, bone and flesh weighing no more than a dozen hatch marks on
the scale absence still bears down heavy like some millstone round
the neck, per black hole void created by defeat with Grim Reaper
toward this woman who helped birth and nurse me into manhood
momma’s only grown son still feels ripples of grievous sadness
no matter the years of suppressed anger and rage
in addition to emotional conflicts between us
which invariably wrought unpleasant relationship
and a legacy of discord writ large across the tapestry of my life.
Force fields from this lithe Brooklyn native shone bright
(whose pronunciation a dead ringer giveaway to any amateur and
junior linguist) lived in the guise of aural spectra
especially within the hallowed sanctity of Glen Elm domicile
continues to emit indomitable and unfading rays of pure energy
and light. Now, even nearly twelve plus years after her passing from
temporal plain, no other dog approached being held with as much
esteem in the pet a file domain.
