Margaret was her given name,

friends and family called her Marla:

some character in Flash Gordon

she was said to have taken after.

 

I remember the Order of Service

misspelled her name as Mahla.

I remember the weight of the coffin

and her poorly written poem.

 

But most I remember Greta

who had greyed since I last saw her

and hugged me so tight on arrival,

who courtesy of a cerebral stroke

had lost the power of speaking.

 

The service was punctuated

by her terrible moaning and wailing,

her “unghs” and “aarghs” and “aiees” expressed

what I felt with more eloquence

than mere words ever could.