It may be that we are most alone when attending funerals, at least that's how it seems to me. By alone I mean that even among throngs of mourners we pull back within ourselves and peer out at life as if through a window. David Baker, an Ohio poet, offers us a picture of a funeral that could be anybody's.
Afterwards
A short ride in the van, then the eight of us
there in the heat--white shirtsleeves sticking,
the women's gloves off--fanning our faces.
The workers had set up a big blue tent
to help us at graveside tolerate the sun,
which was brutal all afternoon as if
stationed above us, though it moved limb
to limb through two huge, covering elms.
The long processional of neighbors, friends,
the town's elderly, her beauty-shop patrons,
her club's notables. . . The world is full of
prayers arrived at from afterwards, he said.
Look up through the trees--the hands, the leaves
curled as in self-control or quietly hurting,
or now open, flat-palmed, many-fine-veined,
and whether from heat or sadness, waving.
American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright (c) by David Baker, whose most recent book of poetry is "Midwest Eclogue," W. W. Norton, 2006. Reprinted from "Virginia Quarterly Review," Winter, 2004, by permission of David Baker. Introduction copyright (c) 2007 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.
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the sun
Not so much the sun, as it was the noise poised accross the street. Contruction admist the gathering of family there to mourn and perform the burial rights. Perhaps a blessing, it quited my tears; a distraction that took my mind off the pain...a fresh and gapping hole.....I didn't want to cry there, not then...my daughters needed my strength...
I gave a flower to her sister, an older sister; a pretty yellow rose ...a new bud. She said a "Pink One" ..."I want a pink one"! Ok, aunte. So I maneuverd around the grave, nearly tripping over the covered boards surrounding another hole, and found a beautiful Pink Rose. I tossed the yellow rose into the hole where they had just lowered mom's casket, and aunte said thank you in her loud old voice (she was hard of hearing)and did I mention, very old
I kissed the top of her head as I had so many times with mom, and my tears welled up...how I appreciated aunte at that moment, and carried away with me a new respect of life, the old ....family.
"thank you Joel", she remembered my name. -
great writing! great writing!!!
gosh kevin, this was a little bit morbid. but i also guess it was suppose to be, it was about a funeral after all... no this was some pretty good stuff. you made me almost think. almost feel it. it made me start to remember MY experience with funerals. i know you understand. ha/ha good write kev. love gypsyfish -
This reminds me very much of the funeral from my uncle..it was so very hot the drive seem to be endless and no one spoke..
Excellent write..
Peace
~A~ -
Perceptive.
Personally I no longer attend weddings or funerals,
especially my own. -
Very astute...
It is true, perhaps, that when we attend funerals we are each attending our own as we project ourselves into the casket.
A fine column for contemplation, Kevin.
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This statement right here really got me
"It may be that we are most alone when attending funerals, at least that's how it seems to me. "
I often feel that way myself. Thank you for sharing this
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