In the heart of us are a set of bagpipes
that blows the beat of a drum
but is described as a hollow *****,
like one in a church that echoes deep whalesong
in the midst of a funeral.
Our mom had rules for visiting the newly departed, lest their spirits attach to ours:
Take home no food, or the dead will hunger.
Wash your clothes, or the dead will wear your skin.
Don’t go straight home, or the dead will follow.
Starved and naked, we wandered
through IKEA and nearby coffee shops
to deposit our lost and beloved friend in a final resting place
before heading home
our empty and quiet home.