Above Daldowie, 1990

Gran is a bird.

Ten years it took
for the dragging flesh to dissolve
and the bones to grow thin and light.

Her hands curled to slow claws
below translucent skin.

The gold ring on her finger
slipped away
and was replaced with plastic
round her wrist
in case she flew too soon.

Far beyond words and Maltesers
she shed her teeth
leaving a small dark hole
below a sharpening beak.

At the end
her wings were hidden,
small but folded
below the sheet.

Only the regular lifting
of her shoulder
showed preparations were complete.

And now, she’s spread her wings
and flown away
free as a wraith of white smoke
free as a bird.