Outside the Crematorium

The car that brings that box

with requisite solemnity

purrs reverently to its gentle halt.

The engine is well mannered,

so quiet I hardly know it’s died,

yet the silence now is solid,

till men in black, with practised gravity,

pass to the rear to slide out that box

from its car-borne bier,

where it sat like a slab during transit.

Now it commands my eyes;

it shares my air.

That box! It cannot be ignored,

not now it is here and I so close

and knowing what is in it.

Only when it is carried inside

and placed on the catafalque -

restoring distance between it and me -

do I allow a resumption of my breath

as I move into the chapel

to take my place and make my farewell.

Reviews

[Elyne Knight]

This is beautiful in the things it doesn't say... the absence of the loved one is, after all, what we really mourn, what all our rituals around death are supposed to alleviate but never can. It captures that sense of numbness, of almost disbelief that's worse than pain in the immediate aftermath of losing someone.

[Andrew John]

Thank you so much for a thoughtful review.

[Gee]

Takes me back to my mother's funeral on the 09/04/19, this the catalyst for my poetry going into dark mode.
Loved this piece.
So, sorry for your loss