Remembrance

Remembrance can
Be a confounding thing.
In a rush to recall,
Our minds can smear
Memories and ideas
Like oil paints on a
Blank canvas, leaving
Nothing but a mess
That someone else
Has to clean up.

But the stories that
Remain
Long after we have
Left this place for
Whatever destination
We most believe in,
Those are what
I actually care about.

What purpose is there
Being a “man of letters”
If there is no one left
Who will read them?

Maybe, in the end,
Frank was right:
I, too, am a woodcarver.
And these words of
Love linger like those
Burned into his long
Fragrant cedar casket,
Put into the ground
And left to fade back
Into the Earth that he
And it came from.

MSBQ

Crystallize

April seems to take
Whatever it pleases
Each year, leaving
Nothing but a long
Empty space where
You used to live.

Thinking back, I see
All the phone calls at
Seven o’clock before
Wheel of Fortune,
Thank you cards, and
Photographs of times
Not to be forgotten.

These images remain.
Memories crystallize
Like golden honey
(And just as sweet)
And pool in the space
Between my lungs.

More than anything,
I know that you loved me.
And we love you back.

MSBQ

Wake

Dark eyes flutter open,
Today was the day;
Black ties and dresses,
Don your somber faces
For now we mourn.
The man buttoned his
Suit jacket carefully,
A wake does not
Call for haste.
Now a slow drive to
The quieter side
Of town, crossing the
Bridge and paying
Respect to those
Who have floated on
Into the ether.

Familiar faces stand
Still, but vibrate
Quietly with tears.
The man gets up,
Wishing to speak his
Thanks and regret,
But none can hear
His whispering.

Alive in every sense
But the obvious.

MSBQ

Camphor & Maple

Immediately,
The smell of
Turpentine and
Humid, pallid air
Fills the space
Between us;
A stunning
Casket built of
Camphor and maple
Forces me to
Remember all
Of your faults.

Beneath the
Lacquer and polish
Of fine lumber
You laugh at me,
So quietly that
Only I can hear,
And refuse to
Speak to me
About luminous
Nature and the
End of all things.
Instead, you pry
Me open in an
Attempt to
Remain on this
Plane for just
A moment more.

MSBQ

A Juxtaposition of Sorts

There is something innately
Poetic about sitting through
A funeral and a wedding,
(In that order, of course)
That I feel compelled to
Explain the contradiction

Both events are saturated
With faith, just of different
Kinds; both events involve
Large gatherings of family
And friends and former
Acquaintances all in one
Overly-warm room

I think the biggest thing
I noticed was that the way
We spoke about the couple
And the recently departed
Were not vastly different…
We simply want those we
Love to be happy

Is that too much to ask?
A stranger on the street
Could tell you that the
Number of people present is
A much better sign of quality
(Both living and dead)
Than what they did,
Or will do.

I sat, quietly, in each,
Hoping that I am spoken of
So fondly when it will
Be my day

MSBQ