at a funeral
you don’t know what to do with
your hands
you see cousins you haven’t seen
since your grandma washed you together
in the sink as infants
baby fathers and exes that stayed close with the family
strangers and relatives alike
at a funeral
you don’t hear laughter
or ringtones go off
or the pounding of kids colliding
into people’s shins playing manhunt behind stools
with candles and
scattered memorial programs
only the stillness between the body of your
loved one
in a casket
and that’s the last way you’ll see them
you wallow and think back at pictures
of better days with them and it’s
surreal
that you’re gone
surreal that there is life
after you
people sit in rows and gaze to the front
the closer they sit
the more healing they needed
and the casket is adorned with festive cut outs
to ring life
in their cushioned box
at funerals there are
solemn carpets where
young widows have walked
childless parents have walked
long lost family have walked
and big men have walked
to carry the casket to the hertz
at a funeral
the directors place dollar boxes of stale tissue that
gets ran through without letup
and when people are ready to continue
living they go over to the primary family
hug them
reassuringly hold one hand
and make their exit unknowing of
the next funeral they’ll have to attend
in order to come together
once again