Good Mourning

Good Mourning

“You can't have a funeral for your mother without also having a funeral for yourself."- Amanda Lovelace.

The frost had barely set,

before she left.

A dozen mourners, barely enough to

create a murky puddle,

grasping for kind things to say,

trying to find something profound,

some form of meaning to it all.

Whispers in the crowd,

gossiping upon how she had met her demise.

“They say it was alcohol that took her.”

The perfect finish upon the coffin,

glossy, like a bottle,

to be defiled by dirt under twelve red roses.

When finally, a voice sliced the tension like a knife.

“She lived like she died,

alone.”