Funerals
By: Lauren Jernberg
Families
sit together. Covered in black.
They cry over who they lost. Wishing for
More
time that they won’t get back. Long lost
relatives
you have
Never
met come and give their condolences.
Old
friends give you hugs and cry for you to.
You
hear the gun fire in the background.
It
is almost over. Your parents receive
A
flag. You fight back the tears that arrived.
You
shake hands with so many people it is
All
a blur. Never knowing what to say
You
keep quiet. Your parents do the talking.
Thanking
those who came telling stories of
Their
time with the dead. And you just wait.
Wait
for the service to be over. Now
Feeling
the need to run and grieve. But you
Can’t
just go you have to be brave. You are
The
oldest now that he is gone. You now
Have
the title that is coveted by all.
There
is food at the church where stories are
Told.
It becomes a celebration of
Life.
There is laughter in the air but none
Of
it matters to you. He is gone your
Protector.
You sit in the corner by
Yourself.
None of them understand. You need
Someone.
Grandma comes to the rescue. You
Cry
for the first time. You could create a
River
with your tears. Everything stops as
If
they suddenly remembered this
Is
a funeral. And they start grieving.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Men
at My Father Funeral By: William Matthews
The
ones his age who shook my hand
on
their way out sent fear along
my
arm like heroin. These weren’t
men
mute about their feelings,
or
what’s a body language for?
And
I, the glib one, who’d stood
with
my back to my father’s body
and
praised the heart that attacked him?
I’d
made my stab at elegy,
the
flesh made word: the very spit
in
my mouth was sour with ruth
and
eloquence. What could be worse?
Silence,
the anthem of my father’s
new
country. And thus this babble,
like
a dial tone, from our bodies.
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