Funerals meant dressing up

            And spending hours watching grown-ups cry

 

            Some of them, at least,

            Not all –

            There were plenty standing around and

            Even cracking jokes with people

            That they hadn’t seen for ages

            Quietly

 

            I couldn’t cry much

            For my grandmother, though I tried,

            Not because I didn’t love her –

            Which I knew I did –

            But seeing her so small and waxen

            In the casket took away the memories

 

            Instead I counted up the wrinkles

            On her powdered cheeks and wondered

            Would her chalky fingers snap

            If someone tugged the rosary

 

            Just as I was ready to undo

            The topmost button of the starched white shirt

            That made me twist and push my neck out

            Like a restless turtle

            She reached and gave my tie a yank,

            Tightened the knot and nearly strangled me

            And it was time to move away

            And sit and help my mother greet

            Another stream of relatives and friends

            Paying respects

 

            The biggest hugs and kisses came from folks I’d never met

            And left a scent of mothballs in their wake

            That made me cough

 

            Finally the tears had mostly stopped

            And everyone grew still

            Just like at church, and I almost

            Burst out laughing when I heard a fart

            But kept my head down and my eyes

            Glued to my shoes until it passed

 

            I thought it was an act of mercy

            When they closed the casket’s lid

            But mom leapt up and shuddered

            And sat down again like an exhausted wave

            And brushed my hand away and sobbed

            Inaudibly

 

            It made me sick at first and then

 

            It all sank in