Mors certa, hora incerta: a poem

>> Die nachts blau illuminierte Uhr des Rathauses enthält die lateinische Umschrift MORS CERTA, HORA INCERTA (Der Tod ist gewiss, die Stunde ungewiss), im Volksmund „Todsicher geht die Uhr falsch“. <<

Mors certa, hora incerta

White plastic chair, poolside.

Plastic hoop, blowing bubbles.

Pool bubbles, swirling slide.

Sliding doors, fly on a plane.

Entrance doors, foreign stares.

A lover stares, dress comes off.

Red dress, 30 springs arrive.

Springs fly by, big bills to pay.

Don’t pay attention, fall off bike.

Son’s first bike, training wheels.

Wheels turn, retirement planned.

Planned parties, last days at work.

Old work dress, 60 gone by.

Gone fishing, granddaughter cries.

Loud cries, mother’s last breath.

Labored breath, clinic visits.

Visits by bus, large group.

Group falls, new world order.

Gray dress, 90 falls slide by.

Plastic tube, gray hair shaved off.

White plastic chair, poolside.

© Ana Ribeiro, 3/10/18 – Grandma’s 98th birthday

A Global Studies doctoral degree holder and former newspaper reporter, avid eater, pseudo-philosopher and poet, occasion-propelled singer, semi-professional socializer, movie addict, Brazilian-American nomad. In this space, she will share some of her experiences and (mis)adventures regarding various topics, with special attention to social issues.

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