an surreal training on bereavement management
and we are asked to write names of four people on four slips
then we give up two, and one is taken away
and i realise your name wasnt on the slip
i am startled by my basic instinct,
i search inside me for the answer
like we hunt for a bus pass in our cavernous handbags
after an age i realise
how could i write your name for a game of chance
you are a part of me, are you not?
just like you always said
flesh of your flesh, blood of your blood
dirty murky blood
shame tainted blood