I'm going to a party
My little black dress is ready
I have my face all set
My lines are learned, practiced, perfect
I haven't felt like this for months
My dearest will be there
I hope the alcohol is strong
The flowers will be beautiful
She was beautiful.
I never did like surprise parties

It rained the whole time we were laying her down;

Plucked from earth to elsewhere, some fantasy. She left like water after a rain, running to the sun to again slide down. And it

Rained from church to grave when we put her down.

Soaked the soil, left it muddied. Someone stifled a cry but the wet and cold made it sound like a sinus problem. There was something funny about it, but not in that moment. There,

The **** of mud at our feet was a hollow sound.

[Ambiance: the atmosphere of an environment; a surrounding influence]

The smoke drifts over the audience,
the piano, the throaty singer and the sax
permeate the room with a jazzy ambiance.
My nerves vanish in the vibe, and I relax.

I enter the parlor to a flower-scent rush
there’s solemn gloom in the room for the viewing
I hear sniffles and mourners speak in a hush,
the ambiance here shaded with blueing.

The senses soak up the atmosphere.
Smells, sounds, touches, and sights
on the outside penetrate like a spear
take us down or ****** us to the heights.

Every day every inch of the way
is a new journey.  I can choose my stance,
embrace the unexpected and pray
for openness and grace in my internal ambiance.

“Internal Ambiance,” Copyright © 2017 by Glenn Currier

I have been...
on more funerals than weddings...
Walking alive on the ground of a cemetery
is an odd feeling,
considering that under the same ground
lie the people who past away.
I get a cold shower,
every time I'm visiting my ancestors
by this dead silence.
But I'm aware
we have a reason to build these spaces:
To honour and remember the dead people.

I wondered about another kind of cemetery:
a graveyard of ideas...
To honour the ones
that didn't make it.
Imagine we walked alive on that ground,
in dead silence,
and could read
what the gravestones of the ideas say.
We would pretty much see
the same all over again.
"Killed by words of ridicule",
"He has been told it's impossible",
"The last words she heard were 'You cannot do THAT' ".
Or murdered by the undertakers' champion: Doubts.
A lot of ideas died straight after birth
or before their reached the puberty.

I wondered ...
how this world would look like
if we weren't so barbarian-brutal.
And instead foster the ideas
like gardeners their plants.
So that we can have
more weddings of ideas than funerals
and create a space
where ideas ... have babies.

I went to your house today to see your mom.
It was weird.
There were photos of you everywhere;
On the walls, on the shelves, in the kitchen and bedrooms..
The only place that lacked a reminder of you was the bathrooms.
There we were,
Surrounded by your things,
All trying not to cry.
Trying to pretend that you're not actually gone.
Tia told me I could play your ukulele,
And as I held it in my hands,
I swear I could feel you there watching us.
We were surrounded by your things,
And I just hope that a piece of your soul is with your mom.
She needed you.
She loved you.
And now all she can do is be
Surrounded by your things.

I feel an overwhelming amount of fear as I watch you lay so still.
I feel anger and regret due to you not being fine.
I feel to scream and shout yet have lost most of my will.
I wish it was me at this time.

Yet tears do not fall from these eyes of mine.

I want to lose this painful ache in my chest.
I want you to stand up and laugh loudly.
I want this day to be an elaborate jest.
I want to be able to hug you again proudly.

Without the need to have tears fall so madly.

They cry around me, that they do.
As your body is lowered, happiness we lack.
They feel your absence more too.
They realise that you will not be back.

My tears shan't fall, else I'll have an attack.

Your Mother is breaking,
Your Friends are bawling,
Your Brothers are shaking,
Family lost and falling.

My tears are still stalling.

Each go their separate ways,
My feet lead me home.
We won't be the same for days,
I wonder why'd you have to go.

The tears fall down painfully slow.

Goodbye, I think as I imagine your smile.
Goodbye, I say as the tears finally pour.
Goodbye, I cry the tears held back for a while.
Goodbye, I finally mourn.

I shed these tears as your spirit surely soars.

I miss you, like we all do.

Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye.