Today I saw,
A box within a box,
Someone beautiful to me
Left rightfully.
But I was left to see,
A box within a box.
And I was angry
Because all that was left was a box.
It could never be,
The beauty that was important to me.
It was just a,
Box.
All that was vital,
Has moved on.
And I,
Refuse to remember a box.
My Aunty, was kind,
My Aunty, was true.
She’ll never be confined,
To a box.
She’ll always be,
Someone with me.
She’ll never be,
Defined physically.
And never by a box… never ever a box.
So a deeply personal one this, happened a while ago now but the memory bubbled up again, for no particular reason, as these things do… In some ways I’m glad the intensity of feeling is still with me and I thought I’d air it again by sharing something I wrote at the time.
I’m a biologist by background, and I have a fascination/horror relationship with biology. In my view there’s zero justice to the processes that drive life. The shells we clunk around in rebel, crush and constrain us, often the best of us, far too often. When they finally give in, I feel a strange resentment for the vacated body, which is probably why I dislike wakes and open casket funerals so much. I know for many it’s a comfort and important to them, but for me, once the person is gone, it’s like looking on at a tormentor.
