GRIEF Poem: Bequests, by Megan D’Albero

At work, I sit with people as they sign
their Last Wills and Testament. Part of my job
is to smile at them, make them feel comfortable
while they contemplate their mortality. I talk
to them about their summer plans, and
enthusiastically say yes when they are instructed
to ask me to be their witness.
If they tell me that they no longer speak with
their daughter, I simply acknowledge how
families are not all the same.

I find Wills to be strange poems, a collection
of moments. Some time after my brother-in-law
passed away, I found a small bottle of Cherry Coke Zero
he left in my fridge, and I was not able to dispose of it. My son
asked if I could leave it to him in my Will,
and I imagined all the wonderful things I could
specifically bequest to him:
the bottle of Cherry Coke Zero from Uncle Joey,
my beaded bracelets he already steals,
the incense he always asks me to burn that’s kept
in the strange armoire in the living room
which was left there by the previous owners–

but I wouldn’t need to, as he is my one and only,
and everything will fall to him anyway.
All I need to leave for him is
permission to throw it all away.

Author: poetryfest

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