Posted tagged ‘what she (not me) wants at her funeral’

At the next table

March 3, 2014

20140304-122101.jpg

At the next table

At the next table, a woman says,
“If he comes to my funeral,
throw him out–
in the most public
way,”

I think of my luck–how even you
who I dreamed, at the worst,
bathed your hands in my
split torso,
balming your bits
with my blisters–
the wrong we rubbed–

how even all that
has puckered now
to a pin-pricking
of far caught stars, their collective
burn only sort of seen
in the over-arching onyx of age, skinned velvet.

The woman, who sits
with her children, or maybe two children
and one child’s mate, says, “I love you both,
but I do have power.”
Although, then–pause–as their side of the table
shifts back, she reaches out
a hand–“Sweetheart–”

You can see what she wants–
what she wants wholly
but cannot wholly give–
not enough, at least, to not want so much,
which is part of the giving–

Her face, just across
the white linen landscape,
makes me, for an instant,
want to weep for someone–
maybe her,
maybe them,
maybe you–

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A draft poem means just written.  I am posting belatedly for With Real Toads Open Link Night.