Yes God, I Know

 
 
I know the line
“O death, where is thy sting”
and every other scripture about
how we really never die, just
our bodies do
and our spirits and souls never cease
to exist.
 
I believe it all
 
And I had every intention  
of going to your wake, with
a smile on my face, because
I knew you weren’t really dead.
 
But I became a blubbering hot mess
anyway
and my makeup ran, and I looked like
a trailer park hooker
who’d gotten caught in a downpour.
 
I saved it, though, until I was driving home—
didn’t want to drip all over your own makeup, since
they did such a nice job on you.
 
(^^I know you laughed at that--they don't call them "fun"erals
for nothing....)
 
Yes God, I know
 
I know he’s still alive
 
I know, I know, I know, but
I was still upset with you, Jesus and the Holy Spirit,
and I had no valid argument to be,  
except for selfishness—
he was “the one”, he loved me
and we had plans for the future  
and I wanted that.

Ah, Michael, eight years later
and I still can’t bring myself  
to want to try and love another.
 
I’m afraid if I do, I won’t see you
in dreams anymore
and your voice will fade
and your sly humor
and your guitar.
 
Yes God, I know
 
I know that he was at his own funeral
standing next to his own coffin,  
head of his own reception line.
 
I know you showed me that, in my sleep
and it drove all those scriptures home
and I still believe them all,  
and you told me why he couldn’t stay here,  
and
and
and….
 
And I’m okay now, but I still tear up,
once in a while.