The Funeral

Since this is technically a blog, I will preface this poem by letting you know that the
editing process was long and difficult. I wanted to publish this a year after the funeral,
but I am a week late or so and it is still not perfect. It never will be. I don't know that
I have written anything this year that was not about him. I am publishing this for you
who mourn, you know who you are. Respect the process. You are being made new.
You will never be the same again and that is ok.

The Funeral

The family gather in the room to the side,

Waiting for the guests to arrive.

The director gives the brief.

The lovers save their grief.

The pastor prays his prayer.  

Relations all stream to the chapel double file.

As would a bridal party walk down center aisle.

Though there’s glitch, she walks alone.

She looks around as for her home.

Where is the one that she would hitch?

Like a nightmare, sees a body in the ditch.

No, it is no ditch, it is a casket,

And a flower girl who carries no basket.

A brother turns and goes back for her,

He takes her arm to reassure.

They pass ahead of me through the double doors.

Relations all lined up, proceed to the chapel single file.

Somewhere behind me walks my cousin, Kyle.

Walking as though they would a wedding celebrate,

Though it was a gruesome death that was his fate.

Now the sanctuary doors narrow like a cattle gate.

I fear to walk through as though slaughter may await.

And looking back three times... I hesitate.

A funeral is through those doors must I go?

The inner mule pulls back and says no!

Panic nears me now as I contemplate a no show.

Walk slow, step out of row.

I cannot go in there alone.

I step out of line, I hope it’s fine.

A new brother I find

To sit next to as I bury mine.

Friends watch the family, in they file.

We walk shocked up the center aisle.

We look at who is there and try to smile.

We advance through to the first and second pew.

We sit we lift our eyes toward the front of the room.

As from the pulpit the familiar old voice booms.

It tells us why we are here today.

It tells us why we should not stray.

Behind sit hundreds of eyes.

A camera live-casting the whole deal,

The preacher, preaching out his spiel.

I close my fists, I want to scream,

I close my eyes, this is a dream.

I open them again, I want to sob,

Lookers on now seem a mob.

Hold it together as the end nears.

My eyes are leaking, leaking tears.

I cannot stop them, nor the fears.

Looking back a sigh of years,

Gone, gone in the blink of an eye.

Now every vision so surreal,

Every choice and decision I can feel.

Eyes always on the future now look past.

To the future that is now fixed by the past.

Even though we thought there'd be more time.

And everything, of course, would work out fine...

A voice summons now to rise,

we turn and form another line.

Out the doors we file behind.

As six brace and lift

And deliver like a gift

His body to the sun.

Lydiangeline

September, 2017 - May 2018

In memory.