My uncle, Gaston,
mum's bro (1-yr apart),
died whilst I cradled him
in the crook of me arms.
He lay there bliss-filled
Faint lustre of his boyhood charms.
It was a waiting game
& he was hanging on.
He held back the Ripper's blade
Unmindful that he'd had it made.
I whispered in his ear
About the good times &
our common dreams &
how it was okay to let go, to forgive & be forgiven.
Then he floated off, by a candle's glow,
like the silent flutter of wispy snow.
It was the most curious & intimate experience to have someone die in your arms.
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