A Poem From Alan Semerdjian

Memento Mori

Today, Melissa found the body of a small mouse

belly up in between the glass of the kitchen window

and the screen that keeps the bugs away.

Yesterday, we saw my great uncle’s printer hands

and gentle face and perfect hair for the last time

when the lid of the coffin was shut before prayer.

Three days ago, I was thinking about his passing,

how he left us quietly the day before, his belly

full of memories and whatever they fed him.

Four days ago, he died.  I was on the other side

of a phone line when she told me, my mother’s voice

the sound that used to keep me safe for years.