I’m sitting in the exact same pew the woman who is in the box once sat.
I’m thinking we are not born to mourn
it’s something we get good at.
See the faces of the North Koreans weeping over the body of the man who enslaved their own.
See the faces in these pews whose dry eyes see this as a death to set her free to see the unknown.
It’s in our DNA and RNA and IRS and Death and Taxes taxes us the same way
as we sit waiting for the funeral to start, complaining about the weather and how we’re
starving to death
when real death rests in that box right over there
and Death is just catching its breath
don’t worry, it will awake from its slumber
leave its last lover and slip under covers with others meaning you eventually.
But, till then, fuck Death.
In fact, write it off with a lower case ‘d’
demote death, demoralize death, declaw death
shine so much light into its eyes that death gives birth to life
so death is no longer blind to the need of life
where winter inspires summer vacations
summer inspires winter vacations to locations where the temperature is heaven wrought
for travelers who got what they sought.
The only ones complaining are the people who live there every day
they’re the ones who say it’s too hot.