(no subject)
After a long nap
After a funeral
you need to convince yourself it all happened.
Most days aren’t filled with sad, uncomfortable
Strangers seeking to transmit as much sincerity
In as brief a period a time as possible
Or the feeling that you’re one
Of a conflagration of ghosts
After all.
She looked nothing like herself. No, It
looked nothing like her.
She was a chubby, pleasant Greek woman.
That thing looked like a wax figure
Of a humorless Asian matron from a spy movie.
Your joke makes you uncomfortable, but
You have to laugh
to catch your breath.
The funeral director helped you find your mark.
Stand here as people enter the church
Follow the powder blue casket down the center aisle
As people cross themselves at your passing.
Sit here as the priest tries to extol the virtues
Stands beside the powder blue casket
Of a woman who is only an acquaintance.
He mentions you often, artfully pausing
To recall your name: Devoted, helpful, everpresent.
Let the congregation observe the body
And then pay their respects.
Hi, I’m so and so. She was a wonderful woman.
Thank you, so and so.
She’s with God now.
Does he need her so badly, so and so?
Go look at the body.
You don’t want to look at the body.
But you go,
Because you’re taken in by
Whatever this is,
And you don’t want to be judged for rebelling
Against whatever this is.
Follow the Hearse which contains the
Powder blue casket which contains her body
Which contains nothing.
It’s an empty container.
Was it once a full container?
Or did it contain the soul the way we, as children
are told to contain ourselves
when we rebel against whatever we rebel against?
Did the body contain her until it was too weak
To hold her spirit at bay
Until it was outdone by that
Which it attempted to define
Until it could no longer limit the limitless?
Is death the triumph of the spirit over
Whatever this is?
After a funeral
you need to convince yourself it all happened.
Most days aren’t filled with sad, uncomfortable
Strangers seeking to transmit as much sincerity
In as brief a period a time as possible
Or the feeling that you’re one
Of a conflagration of ghosts
After all.
She looked nothing like herself. No, It
looked nothing like her.
She was a chubby, pleasant Greek woman.
That thing looked like a wax figure
Of a humorless Asian matron from a spy movie.
Your joke makes you uncomfortable, but
You have to laugh
to catch your breath.
The funeral director helped you find your mark.
Stand here as people enter the church
Follow the powder blue casket down the center aisle
As people cross themselves at your passing.
Sit here as the priest tries to extol the virtues
Stands beside the powder blue casket
Of a woman who is only an acquaintance.
He mentions you often, artfully pausing
To recall your name: Devoted, helpful, everpresent.
Let the congregation observe the body
And then pay their respects.
Hi, I’m so and so. She was a wonderful woman.
Thank you, so and so.
She’s with God now.
Does he need her so badly, so and so?
Go look at the body.
You don’t want to look at the body.
But you go,
Because you’re taken in by
Whatever this is,
And you don’t want to be judged for rebelling
Against whatever this is.
Follow the Hearse which contains the
Powder blue casket which contains her body
Which contains nothing.
It’s an empty container.
Was it once a full container?
Or did it contain the soul the way we, as children
are told to contain ourselves
when we rebel against whatever we rebel against?
Did the body contain her until it was too weak
To hold her spirit at bay
Until it was outdone by that
Which it attempted to define
Until it could no longer limit the limitless?
Is death the triumph of the spirit over
Whatever this is?