1991: My Mother's Funeral
The organ played the psalm
unto the grieving
somehow to balm the feelings
of the living
as though no dark deceiver
had come thieving.
Memories are the gift
that keeps on giving;
questions have no hope
of ever relieving.
Could I have been a better son
when living?
Supposed regrets come visit
as a greeting
to stab us in the heart
before retreating.
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