Andreas Andersson

I do not know death


I remember a bird in childhood buried
under a tree - oak out by the field.
It looked so small. The grandest
tombstone in all the county.

Then there was my grandpa -
his whole stomach riddled
with cancer - one day gone.
Church service with red banners
befitting a socialist, followed
by cremation.  My grandma cried.
My cousins chased me round
the churchyard.

My grandma died
a few years ago,
eighty four years old.
Few people showed.
Sandwiches and beer.
Then we went home.