The day duolingo taught me ‘Abuelo’

The coffin closed on a Thursday,

The call came in at eleven.

It seems cruel

That such defining moments keep coming at mundane times.

Tears don’t make time stamps

And death mocks all logical rule.

In autumn, leaves will leave the branches.

A ritual loss,

An entire nation turns to grieve the summer,

But with you the call came at eleven

And I told no soul till one.

Words and Artwork by Bea Butterworth (she/they)