that relief was on tap
I went on like this for a week,
(smug you might say)
she was so sick, and in so much pain
my god, if you saw her
she was starving
She was not starving
she was feasting
on every day
the bread of life
(the cup of salvation)
I'd missed all that
until we came to the church
where people packed every bench
lined every wall
with love in their hearts
and flowers in their hair
Because there were just so many of us,
they opened the choir loft
And the people who knew you best
sang your praises
with stories and poetry, the places you went to meet God
And oh god (since we're on the subject)
those unruly bitches
plummeting from my eyes and nose
(I read on the internet so it must be true
that the molecular structure of tears
changes based on what they're for
tears of grief are not pretty
like onion-chopping tears;
Grief tears under a microscope resemble reckless stick people
drunk and flailing in an ice storm)
It was only when your past stood up to speak
that I saw with my big dumb eyes
what our future had lost
Your middle name was Denise
denise, from nice (I thought)
but really the name is derived
from Dionysus, Greek
God of wine and merriment
(So your middle name was mischief.
Of course it was.)
I wept for your middle name,
and all the things I never knew
And all the new things we'll never know
Grief is a motherfucker.
Not at all the holy golden thing we imagine
But a lumbering oaf who stumbles into the kitchen
and grabs a fistful of cocktail nuts
and chews with its mouth open
while you're at the stove
attempting to prepare
a balanced meal
I was expecting death.
I was not expecting this.
The unexpected reminds me of you.
It feels like you.
So I'll take it.