How easy it is to forget that we are needed
And how sad we cannot see those that gather
When it is time to say goodbye

Clinging to an old idea
of a red lip
a torn pair of black jeans
a swing set at a memorial
Where were you in September?

your wide eyed child misses his daddy
and we all miss our friend

I sit here
jealous
of your endless sleep
I am tired too, Adam.

Supposedly you are selfish
That's what is said in a low whisper,
but they don't know
the tearing pain.

Old man Death had already taken you before you tied the noose.

Sleep well.

You are not in pain
and you are not what hung you.

Hi, my name is **!
Who are you?
I’m James

Thank you for being my savior
You left too soon and I never really processed it
I don't want anyone to feel how I felt when I was told
I still regret not going to your funeral

My tears are a gift that you never got
Still making it up today
maybe the saline is for my pain or the pain I know you couldn't talk about

I
"She's lovely . . . so natural."
A corpse pumped full of formaldehyde.
My grandmother? That prodigious maker of
pies, cakes, stuffing, and cranberry ice?
That lover of Burger King restaurants,
amusement parks, presidential elections, and long summer rides?
Her flushed face is like stone.
This body is a mockery of her being.
(Her fearless motion is done.)
  
   II
She gave us life.
Crass, fond, willful. She gave us life
like turkey and stuffing.
She is the answer to our dark questionings.

We stood in a circle in the parlor,
Jim was chatting with his golfing crones;
Her body was there for the viewing,
But we're keen on his hole-in-one.

We gave him our proud approval,
We chorused, Jim, well-done!
Then Jim took his turn on the kneeler,
To ponder before her coffin.

We all know the cold humility,
That an ace needs a load full of luck;
Yet we're pleased to hear all his details,
From the crack off the tee,
To the flag in the cup.

I waited for my turn behind Jim,
I overheard his solemn words:
... an eight iron... bounced once, then straight in...
Oh, and may you rest in peace too, Mrs. Hobin.

Flowers make anything beautiful. That's why we have them at funerals.

I was your dream,
But you shouldn’t have fallen asleep.