On Suicide

Once upon a time my grandmother

Tried to commit suicide

She swallowed a huge

Number of yellow pills

That my mother had

Prescribed to her

As the good doctor and daughter

She was at the time

Sleeping pills

My grandfather found her

In bed with the faded light

And traffic noise from

The street below

On a winter afternoon

I was about ten at the time

My mother told me that

It was not my fault

Not so much, just a little

And any way the pills

Would not kill her

Most to blame was my grandfather

Who did not fulfill her wish

Of the perfect summerhouse

I kept those words in memory

Creating new disasters in

The far future

That is now

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