Funeral: The Last Rites

I did not know you were really dead  
or, could not bring myself to believe  
till I saw that chap, baring his head,  
bowing you past, and me, leave to grieve.

She had watched, and often,
death's rattling cortege,
visioned her own going, softer,
in a more romantic age,
 
and, as a stranger in the chapel,
her neighbors remarked,
" How strange, & what a marvel,
her face, unblemished, unmarked "
 
As the smoke from the long black chimney
(as they sang of remembrance and love)
rose, fusing her fuming body,
with the clouds, above.

If the lips are red,
these hands are so white,
on my hands.
In the village where I was raised
there was no tree
neither nuts… because I craved
myself from time to time.

In the village where I was raised
there was no wheat field.
In the village where I was raised
from the north the wind left
a dryness my chapped lips.

Do I remember some boyfriends I had?

I wonder what they were like.
I dreamed that they changed a bit,
not the same as always.

Now they are a name in the books,
Last names in parentheses.
Their birth and death years
at the bottom of the page,
or maybe it's from when
they were edited.

A list of names in the books.
Like birds in agony
of death within my hand.
In parentheses, a dash.
Everything that was is there.
The hopes, the fears,
the teas, the joys.

Everything that was is there.
Now they remain inside…
As prisoners of these books.
In these traits they still live!
One cannot go back.
One can just kill people
inside their cells.

Friends died
without my permission.
I salute the poets
recently translated
for our language.
I must enjoy this winter
melting before me.

There are dark birds
that wrangle in the eater.
All this shiny snow...
It circles the street in drains,
Rivers of broken hearts...


PAR

Today we gather
family and friends
laying you to rest
we say our amens

A service for
those left behind
in our mourning
grief assigned

Suffering our loss
and death’s cyclone
in connection
we are not alone

Sorrow and pain
shared emotion
as we profess
a common devotion

A celebration of you
fond recollections
sharing memories
collective affections

In this ritual
we say our goodbyes
honouring your soul
as it soars and flies

Unlike the meticulous planning of a wedding, an obituary serves as the invitations and a few phone calls procures essentials for an interment
 
Within days the accommodations are booked, the staff ready, the guest of honor prepared, and the room decorated  
 
Memorial cards printed, limos waxed, and even the reception room is filled with fare for those invited to feast
 
The sounds are discrete at a funeral ceremony, a library silence, an inherent rule of respect I suppose
 
Friends, families and acquaintances hurt along side you. “I’m sorry for your loss” is offered from those less damaged, a last minute artificial cheese platter of sentiment grabbed off the generic gift shelf, but an offering none the less
 
Everyone is afraid and all ‘who enters’ the room sees the lifelessness, feels the inevitability. The parlor, the scent, the casket, the hearse, the formalities, are all pre defined mechanisms of etiquette to keep you propelling through the absoluteness of grief
 
Imagine what you want in this hallowed hall. Break down, or laugh, disclose and presume unhinged theories, become a child again. “It’s ok.” Despite the stillness, you are not sanctioned to behave ordinarily.  
 
The flowers are not typical, their aroma is omniscient of an air freshener, an over-powering fragrance designed to redirect your mind from questioning your senses. The arranged buds represent the artistry of life, the cut stems cements the knowledge of death; everything in this reception room is delicately dead.  
 
These cloned arrangements are beacons of sorrow, labeled with identity banners so everyone has something else to converse about
 
Final judgments are offered, the hair, the makeup, she looks good, he is at peace now, no one knows what the hell to say
 
Looking past the funeral sticker on the windshield during the dreaded procession to the grave site, a man waters his lawn, not noticing the clouds and children ride bikes full of energy and happiness. Maybe they will live forever. Perhaps there is a quantum tear in the universe. Yes, this must be some crazy nightmare, and death will never happen again, to anyone  
 
Secretly, I desire to jump out of the car and help the man water his lawn  
 
In the back of the hearse flowers secured to metal arbors and arranged like wreaths should be released, their seeds snatched by birds and distributed into fields; at least give them a chance for more life
 
Tomorrow I will become a research scientist and discover the cure for aging, “No” I will discover an elixir for immortality; I tell myself  
 
But for now, I transfer my thoughts and dwell on the looming pain, my loved one will be missed and in reality, none of this is fair
 
Hugs, tight squeezes, hands held, tissues soaked to capacity, shared tears and kisses among strangers are exchanged, because funeral germs are safe  
 
I look at all the sad faces and I want happiness in spite of the loss. I want music to uplift everyone out of this group mourning for there will be bereavement anyway; I want
 
Eventually the rain will give way to sunshine, an intricate wedding invitation will be sent, bouquets of flowers held, photographed and saved as mementos existing forever in photo albums
 
Hugs and kisses with flourishing wedding germs will be reciprocated and thoughts about life and the future will be shared and the music will be playing

What are funerals...
But the declaration of the end
Hide away those metal beads
And those beautiful silk cheetah shirts
Hide the leather skirts, dont forget the heels
The beaded masks and rainbow trucker hat
Park that acid trip ford truck out back
We burry him in full military apparel
In his coffin a bare face without his grin
Metals glimmering in that mild light
Images that capture his beautiful life
Photos only showing him with his trucks
Those trucker hats holding his ponytail
Leather jacket and blue jeaned man
The only hint of queer in those dangling earrings
But never in his silks and high heels
That was for family and the drunks at the bar
He was beautiful and domineering in life
But so very small and frail in his death
Bury him as a military man as he deserves
Remember the drag queen he was

 
memories of faith in shades of pain
desolate was the golden streets on which we gambled our fate
daring each other into bravery
lending our voices to a choir of angels
who look but never saw beauty weep
 
bitterness crept upon the dawning of understanding
feeding the fire in our souls
clashing with midnight's dust
 
it was our first and last night together, how were we to know
you cried I pretended not to see
overcome by the moment  
 
I swear a vow to always honor you
I wept upon the knowledge I had loved you times two forevers
silence cut the glory with jealousy
 
I shine in my innocense
believing we could always be
you were cut from my side with a word
sent assassin that bated your valor
I lay down my weapons, then
and the all the angels cried
stars crash to the ground in brotherhood  
 
for the love of our immortal bond
lay your soul down in mine
and keep your vow to heaven no more