They told us in school that God

Isn’t dead, but it still feels like we’re

Passing along His memory.

No one likes to talk about corpses.

What guilt for those still living, I mean

We’re free!

in this time with these bodies;

So when we have to, we dress it up

Into the most acceptable opinion.

He would have wanted you to be happy.

You know how he was.

Or worse. There’s the gray old relative, guilting us into

Going to church to stare at the

Body

With all the other bodies who have to

Find something nice to say, or else even from death he’ll

Give you hell; I mean

You know how he was.

Some fear takes up permanent residence.

The worst is when

They expect you to touch the dead man.

Just reach out your hand and

Find something nice to say and

Remind yourself that he can’t get you from there.

I mean

He would’ve wanted you to just

Be

Happy.

Praying

That He won’t reach back.

Some fear takes up permanent residence.

I know this

Like I know that we’re all reaching for something

For another moment of happy or for something nice to say
Or for another day

Hour

Morning

Without the

Fear.

I know this

Because for fifteen years I’ve reached my hands out

And waited to be filled.

Death can’t be cured by

Death.