Obituary Generator

[Person] died alone and in the morning, surrounded by strangers who catalogued every blemish. Family arrived to confirm the location of each freckle. She was born in [Somewhere City] and died nearby. She is survived by [Someone] and [Some Other] and they’ve already began forgetting, whether they know or not. She never wore collared shirts because they reminded her of her head’s attachment to her body. [Person] died in the afternoon but did not live comfortably past the morning. Their family did not know them and neither do I. [Person] died in his two-car garage next to one car. [Person] liked his cars and his garage very much. He is survived by two cars nestled still in their garage. They cannot visit his grave. [Person] died alone. He had brown eyes that needed glasses. He was born on a farm and dreamt of it. He wore t shirts ordered from Facebook generated by an algorithm & printed at an office and shorts covered in pockets to fill with peppermint patties for their [Person]. [Person] drank chocolate Pedialite as his only nutrient but constantly craved purple grape juice in the end.

   

Credit

Copyright © 2021 by Mariah Bosch. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on March 17, 2021, by the Academy of American Poets.

About this Poem

“I wrote this series of bot-obituaries in the wake of my grandfather’s death in October of 2018. I felt as ‘the family poet’ that I should’ve been given some opportunity to write his obituary and instead, the one that was published feels much like these: limited, looking away from real life and toward reduction. The final column is my documenting of his final days. The current form is also in conversation with Victoria Chang’s Obit, a book that pushed me to think of this poem’s true intent.”
—Mariah Bosch