After she died
We ordered airline tickets
Cursed security lines,
How short, how swiftly they moved this time
Of course,
It wasn’t a vacation,
Luggage full of black
Entire lives rearranged within a matter
of days
9 people showed up for the service
Haughty with the pride that no one could remark on their absence
Their attendance being the full extent of their duties
There was nothing to gain for grand behavior
No Last Will & Testament, no percentages to ponder
You don’t need a calculator to add insultto injury,
And words, words did not come easily
What was to be said, of her, or to each other, even
Back at the house
Sitting slumped on quiet couches, we stared at the living room floor.
Infuriating clock, ticking loudly,

Maddening
The droning hum of the refrigerator in
the nearby kitchen
The shadow of chirping birds flying
through dusty rays of sunlight
Glinting off the cold marble
Someone said “At least we had good
weather; it usually rains”
Relieved, we grunted quick clichés
Pastor did a good job, coffin was nice,
Song was … sung,
The flowers … were … uhm …

No traffic either
Hurriedly, to end the ritual of closure
Obligatory stock phrases for earnest sorrow:
She’s in a better place
Out of her misery
No more pain
God’s will is done …
Sustained in our suffering, we struggled
to dredge up tears
Trying for old memories to incite them
Only left to upend the salt shaker into our eyes
No one mentioned
Happy it’s over
The bills for the nursing home
Were deadlier than f***ing cancer
Watching her forget who we were
Forgetting who she once was
The manic-depressive tyrant who made
us dream for years of this very day, with pleasure
No. She was too pathetic by the end for
anyone to wish agonizing death upon her
Dementia made her soft in the head,

Childish and sweet as a cherub
Wearing a diaper, for god’s sake
Puts your heart in two places at once, it did
But why should all sorts be taken to church after they die? Weird, isn’t it?
Isn’t there some optional location to host the dead of a certain caliber? Where
do atheists have funerals, anyway?

Well, we could not celebrate her life
The money for the funeral was worth
every penny to have it over with, but now
We could not break bread with each other
The tension of present company
The fact that her passing had brought
us together might have been worse
than her passing
This was the real grief
Not the dead, but those who still waked among us.
Not the dead, but those things we refuse to bury
In secret, we pined for a few more holes in the ground
The reality of this matter dawned swiftly upon us.
This sentiment we all shared.

Alas, tears …