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  • Heung Aiden

The Darkest Hour

For a grandmother

The spirit of old times comes

at 4pm,

sharp,

with the voice of a doctor

demanding a black signature

and a blood-red fingerprint.

The paper he brings,

white like a conjuring flag,

written full

of medical terms,

A verdict,

death;


but to us who survive her,

every statement reeks

of pedantry.

and every offer of condolences,

disgusting.


The darkest hour is full of the afternoon sun;


Praeter Spem,

no myth involved,

no explanations,

just a bed unmade,

a body clad in black,

nothing more.


We’ll learn to live on,

a little less than we are used to


*first published on the Cider Press Review

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 © 2019 by Aiden Heung