Death and Marion’s Mum

(for Marion)

"Too soon," she said, "too soon.

You’ve come too soon."

"I came at the appointed hour,"

said Death. "Am I to be blamed for

the fact you lost track of the days

and hours allotted you?"

"Untrue," she said, "Untrue.

Tell Time to check."

"I made no promises," said Time.

"Moments come and moments go and

naught can stem their flow. She should have

kept one eye on the clock."

"I did," she said, "I did.

Ask Marion."

"I cannot lie," her daughter cried,

"Mum was forever there for me.

She never said forever ends.

If only I had known."

Death sighed: "I’m sorry but

my hands are tied;

my mandate is clear and there are

limits even to my power.

You must take matters up with God

but be warned: He doesn’t

reckon time like Man or

see its worth."

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Jim Murdoch has been writing poetry for fifty years and has graced the pages of many now-defunct—and a few non-defunct—literary magazines and websites. For ten years he ran the literary blog The Truth About Lies but now lives quietly in Scotland with his wife and, whenever the mood takes him, next door’s cat. He has published two books of poetry, a short story collection and four novels: Jim, not the cat.