Coming To Terms With Death - Part I by WaltzingChicken, literature
Literature
Coming To Terms With Death - Part I
I was eight years old when I realized I was going to die.
I was eight years old when I started hating the colour yellow.
My grandmother finally succumbed
To a battle waged by cancer
That had gone on from the furthest edge
Of my memory
And she left us
On a dusty yellow morning.
At the hospital
There was a tree
Whose branches sagged
Under the prairies' sun
And I’d watch it dance in the wind
As I sat beside my grandmother,
The tree’s leaves always seemed to be yellow,
Despite the summer glowing around it.
This tree performed a ballet
To the symphonic rhythm of the dying woman’s heartbeat
And I lived for the music.
It’s