 |
 |
Volume XIX - The Memorial, Part 1
I didn’t want to go
I fucked up
the directions
and went the wrong way
on the ten off the six-oh-five.
The giant cemetery
I couldn’t find
had several buildings
We (unknowingly) chose
the wrong chapel
and parked at the top
of the hill in the rain.
When sadness
doesn’t suit you,
Memorials and Funerals
are hard to deal with,
the sun vanishes
and the rain,
the rain forms
inside your skull.
You feel so bad
you want to tell everyone:
I’m sorry. It’s my fault
it’s raining.
My wife and I
walked to the chapel
she under her umbrella
and me holding the storm,
collecting it in my eye
sockets, both of us
smoking a cigarette.
The church was locked –
another person was
under a tree, sitting
politely, with tragedy,
but just a sense of it.
Not tragic – a lady
in a black hat
and gray suit.
Her name was
Rose Marie.
I knew of her
from smoke break conversations
with The Judge
She was one of many,
but always there, and
spoken well of.
That alone
made her special
She was Rose Marie,
sent to John
for his sins,
the help he needed,
Rose Marie
didn’t want
to find the memorial
either
We shared her tree,
each smoking another
cigarette,
then went to the building
(we all inwardly knew
was the right one)
down the hill.
Click here to read next Volume.