Pictures new and old
Align the fold-up tabletops
With tacky floral covers
And little mementos from her life
People trickle in, not many,
Mostly aged faces of a dying breed
Bundled up in yard sale overcoats
With snow-filled cottonball hair.
Nobody’s here. She donated herself to science.
It’s an irony missed for most–
Many reasons to laugh but all that’s offered
Are sweet sentiments and too personal admissions.
In the front it feels so empty.
Empty empty. All the words don’t matter,
Scripture recited like a gas receipt,
Like somebody who never spent time with her
I can’t bring the words.
I’m exhausted from so much loss
Too drained to care to share–
If I need to tell you, you shouldn’t be here.
Wrapped up like take-out,
Splayed out like origami,
A neat little line to the finish line
“Laid down” with no one beneath the ground but worms.