Death is as absolute as it gets

During the car ride,
we picked white hair
and loose pollen from
black clothes – black
clothes always seem
to want the loose
debris of life you’d
never otherwise notice.

And when we arrived,
the funeral home felt
like a vacation home
from the 1970s with
wooden paneling and
drooping floors.

Three bathroom
doors were opened
on three urinators
in simultaneous comedy
before the service.

I strained to see the
posterboards done up
with pictures from her youth –
she’d had a ’50s bob and
cateye glasses; I didn’t
recognize her at all.

When he finally took the
stage, he clasped the podium
with both hands, steadying
himself.

He hugged me for a long
moment afterwards and
when he drew back –
his skin looked like
a relief map and this
was a day of
considerable erosion.

4 thoughts on “Death is as absolute as it gets

  1. i like your poem a lot because it has lots clear images and some deep thought but …. please don’t hate me … i think you could tighten it up a bit. ks

    1. You’re probably right. This was admittedly a strange thing for me to write about so it’s more of a prose piece chopped into a poem than a proper poem itself. I was reminded by my brother this evening that when my uncle pulled away from hugging me, he said: ‘You smell so good.’ Perhaps that could’ve added a sort of strangeness to the piece. I think I’d rather toss this than touch it again.

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