I must’ve had seven cups of coffee
the morning of your funeral

Put on some slacks
Button my shirt (my mother forgot the weather and wore a skirt)
I do my best with my hair
Try to open my eyes and keep them wide

The night before is no better
In jeans and pearl snaps,
I get in my car and drive through town
The town you were raised in
My mother as well
And I, half raised

My cell phone has been off for
close to three days, shut in a drawer
Probably harboring messages from four
people who decided recently they were in love with me
And I'm sorry because I'm only ******* them

No computer, no phone, only stereo and headphones
Gentle distraction
As sadness rapes me over and over

I hold the door leading to you
There are people I know and some I don’t
Floating through the pews like ghosts
I approach you in a wooden, cushioned bed
Centered at the front like a sacrifice
No one dares to linger too long beside
A final viewing before we give you up

Everyone talks, smiles, braves it all
In the heartland
Of the heartland

With my family’s hearts dripping from my
hands.

It's the following morning
The supposed final goodbye,
The day before Thanksgiving and I am only rage.
I appear in hate of whatever God pulled this punch
My father and I
sit on the couch drinking coffee, dark.
I let it fester on my tongue, bitter and harsh
This house is hurricane
I haven’t slept in days and days
My eyes, like bloodshot moons,
Wane

Loss is plague

I drive to the church
My brother in the backseat
Steeple looming, scowling
knowing it’s wreaked it’s revenge on me

It hasn’t hit him yet

We pull up in the procession, the second car
behind your carrier, grandmother
I walk Max in
His eyes wax as he sees my mother in tears

It’*****

Pulls me down by my coat
Ear to mouth
“Grandma’s in heaven, right?”
Tears well in his blues

“Yes, Max, she’s in heaven.”
I can’t bring myself to say anything different

We sit in the splintered pews, old news living through bad news
A hand reaches for an older man’s shoulder
from behind
Two arms draped around him
Mother and aunt
This church is hell
Eulogy, song, tears
Everything I expected and dreaded
I hug my grandfather

I drive my brother and a couple cousins
To the cemetery
It looks like rain is dawning
Gray skies in a gray world
Grave sites in graver eyes
A prayer starts, the fourth or fifth today
Giving me time to think
Roses are passed
Carnations are stacked
Everyone lingers, little ones jump in mud
Family and friends talk

The red rose thorn ****** me
and I bleed goodbye blood

Goodbye, blood
Goodbye, grandmother
Goodbye