deepundergroundpoetry.com
Exequiae
my boss sent flowers
thoughtful
I stare at them, knowing
I’ll never remember
what they look like
after this moment;
I’m filled to overflowing,
overwhelming
and I can’t fit
anything else inside;
my limbs ache,
heavy in their disbelief
outside the sanctuary,
I sit, skin humming
I’m not ready.
in fight or flight, hovering
between stay and go, go, go -
on the end of a suburban floral sofa
made of industrial fabric
pretending so hard to be something
close to home
I’m disgusted by its attempt
at normalcy; I’m waiting for nothing
stunned and stunted
I can’t believe she’s gone
I’ll have this thought repeatedly
all day
a deep, stuttered breath
I make my way in ten short steps;
from the doorway
I see her face, circa 1978
my dimpled smile
from the comfort of her lap;
they asked for photos
I suddenly didn’t want to share;
the screen is too modern
for the patina of my memories,
it’s irrational, my anger
reminiscing
frozen in greyspace
in an upholstered stacking chair;
the turnout is interesting -
I won’t remember them, either
not in whole, anyway
instead, flash photos of faces,
the canned words of condolence
disconnected
The service drones on
by a man who didn’t know her
and a dummy urn,
words about some woman
who was definitely not
my mother; she’d have hated
the plastic man using the emotion
of her death to manipulate her mourners
into salvation
I grip my seat to keep from
bursting forth into hot lava
and razors
her body is still here,
in the building somewhere
awaiting her return to ash;
I saw her yesterday and wish I hadn’t
I spend some time to myself
dissociating, flowing into the macabre
thoughts I can’t seem to stop having
…I’ll have them for the next year
the after party is always awkward;
I don’t want to have to speak
to anyone, I need space -
I feel rude, close to something
…a coming undone;
I scoop out my words carefully,
don’t want them splashing
over the edges, rolling
down my tongue onto the floor;
people don’t know what to say -
their awkwardness inflames me,
tempered only slightly
by our universal ignorance
of the right thing to say
when nothing you say
feels right at all
thoughtful
I stare at them, knowing
I’ll never remember
what they look like
after this moment;
I’m filled to overflowing,
overwhelming
and I can’t fit
anything else inside;
my limbs ache,
heavy in their disbelief
outside the sanctuary,
I sit, skin humming
I’m not ready.
in fight or flight, hovering
between stay and go, go, go -
on the end of a suburban floral sofa
made of industrial fabric
pretending so hard to be something
close to home
I’m disgusted by its attempt
at normalcy; I’m waiting for nothing
stunned and stunted
I can’t believe she’s gone
I’ll have this thought repeatedly
all day
a deep, stuttered breath
I make my way in ten short steps;
from the doorway
I see her face, circa 1978
my dimpled smile
from the comfort of her lap;
they asked for photos
I suddenly didn’t want to share;
the screen is too modern
for the patina of my memories,
it’s irrational, my anger
reminiscing
frozen in greyspace
in an upholstered stacking chair;
the turnout is interesting -
I won’t remember them, either
not in whole, anyway
instead, flash photos of faces,
the canned words of condolence
disconnected
The service drones on
by a man who didn’t know her
and a dummy urn,
words about some woman
who was definitely not
my mother; she’d have hated
the plastic man using the emotion
of her death to manipulate her mourners
into salvation
I grip my seat to keep from
bursting forth into hot lava
and razors
her body is still here,
in the building somewhere
awaiting her return to ash;
I saw her yesterday and wish I hadn’t
I spend some time to myself
dissociating, flowing into the macabre
thoughts I can’t seem to stop having
…I’ll have them for the next year
the after party is always awkward;
I don’t want to have to speak
to anyone, I need space -
I feel rude, close to something
…a coming undone;
I scoop out my words carefully,
don’t want them splashing
over the edges, rolling
down my tongue onto the floor;
people don’t know what to say -
their awkwardness inflames me,
tempered only slightly
by our universal ignorance
of the right thing to say
when nothing you say
feels right at all
Published 15th Jan 2023
Author's Note
Written for the Last Rites competition
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 10
reading list entries 4
comments 12
reads 246
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
15th Jan 2023 6:19pm
Beautifully written. You brought me along for this journey I feel like I was in your seat. Beautiful spill. Thank you for opening up and sharing.
15th Jan 2023 6:23pm
Anonymous
- Edited 29th May 2023 7:45am
15th Jan 2023 8:58pm
<< post removed >>
16th Jan 2023 1:03pm
I’m so glad you found resonance here, Rianne. Thank you for reading and for the kind words!
16th Jan 2023 2:23am
I love the use of patina. Your voice is exquisitely personal, the details hold wonderful revelatory intimacy. I found myself in a hush as I was reading, no thoughts but drinking you in like water into soil. Third stanza from the end, that is the kind of thing I was hoping for when I posted this competition, the depth beneath the rituals and what they meant to you personally. The third stanza from the top, followed by the singular line, made my heart inhale a pained piston.
You're a beautiful person and a wonderful writer.
You're a beautiful person and a wonderful writer.
16th Jan 2023 1:04pm
19th Jan 2023 6:09am
Another beautiful written, heartfelt piece here. Our mother passed in 2016. She was cremated and my brother and I spread her ashes at The Grand Canyon per her request. This touches deeply. My personal beliefs are that we never truly pass away and I believe and feel she is still very much with us in spirit. Beautiful writing though and you address the internal struggles in such a situation and truly have us (the readers) feel. :)
19th Jan 2023 1:49pm
What a beautiful resting place, the Grand Canyon. Thank you so much for reading and for sharing. It helps to know you aren’t alone in your grief, that others understand the grief you’re experiencing. Thank you for your kind words!
OMG this carries so much. I loved the logically and emotional feel to it, the process of coming to the realization that the person is no longer there but in memory. Those last lines are so true. What can we say to comfort or be comforted? A big heartfelt hug usually seems to express the condolences and sympathy for loss.
Good luck in the comp (I didn't see it shared in the comp though)
Good luck in the comp (I didn't see it shared in the comp though)
23rd Jan 2023 10:21pm
Anonymous
- Edited 26th Aug 2023 5:45pm
7th Feb 2023 9:36pm
<< post removed >>
7th Feb 2023 10:12pm
