The Funeral

Old house creaking, the carnations are quieter 
Church ladies with casseroles and cakes, Aunt Mary with her black pumps and proper dark 
dress, bravely trying to hide her grief and fear. 
We are all gathered here to mourn the fallen king, Uncle Mark, but when we're done eating, 
drinking and consoling each other, Mary will be left alone in the big house, the air bereft of 
Mark's laugh. 
So we will go home to our families and our stable lives, but she walks lonely through the 
shattered glass of her dreams.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2007

Poem

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