It's Your Funeral
Walking around your funeral now.
Your death makes us feel life more fully.
Therefore tears.
Therefore hugs.
Therefore connection.
It all rings more true
outside of the condolences.
They are said and accepted
even though we all feel them hollow.
Funerals are field days for truth and love.
The idea that our strategies and stories
might get us somewhere is in detention.
This loss is our love
and today it refused to be subdued.
Your corpse the lion it rode in on.
Growling at the futility of importance.
Some fight back the tears.
Like children who don't want to be touched
when they are upset.
As if their emotions
have made their mothers stop loving them.
As if the depth of this loss
wasn't love showering down on us.
So they tell me a story to feel less.
Distract with the weather or politics.
Weaken the grief with condolences.
Stop! It is pissing me off.
I am here to be eaten by love and its lion.
I am here to lose myself again and again.
I am here to feel this loss
like the caress of a tender lover
who knows our time has come.
Let them look away if my ecstasy is indecent.
If this intimacy makes them uncomfortable.
I have no apologies
for the parts of myself
that die along side of you.
Offering myself up to annihilation
over and over lets me rest
in what can't be destroyed.
Let me rest in the stillness
I see in you.