The Funeral

The Funeral

 

Nothing should be faced alone, especially grief,

that inevitable and immediate force. The guilt

following. The selfishness. I hate wearing a suit,

the empty words of strangers. “So-and-so

meant so much to me,” they lie, affably.

 

The urge to scream, muffled in the deluge

of cold cuts, cold meat delivered in drowning

bounties to the front door, where strangers ring the bell.

 

Family comes in the back way, unannounced,

welcomed invasions. They know where things are,

and put on a fresh pot of coffee,

knowing it will be needed.

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