Issue 10.2 Spring 2015

10.2 cover image

 

About the Author

John Grey is an Australian born poet. Recently published in Oyez Review, Rockhurst Review and Spindrift with work upcoming in New Plains Review, Big Muddy Review, Willow Review and Louisiana Literature.

 

AT HER HUSBAND'S FUNERAL

 

John Grey

 

 

From front row pew,
she leans into the spreading shadow
of crosses, virgins, crucifixes.
The priest's speech is slow
and hollowed out by grim acoustics.
Her fingers flirt with
her black hat's white netting.

 

She's dressed for a Sunday sermon
fifty years in the rear-view mirror.
She tugs at her gloves, her collar.
The organ music is like
a river of deep sound flowing underground.
The closed coffin merely confirms
what she's known about the man
for the past twenty years of their marriage.
Her tremble falls to the eyes
of the fellow mourners.

 

There'll be no tears.
Response to the priest's litany
of a man's invented virtues
is just the rustle of wind and petticoats,
the clicking of coins in pockets.
Like the best rites,
this one has no bearing.
He's in heaven or hell.
She's back to her daughter's house
for tidbits and wine.
A stranger offers his condolences.
In a warm friendly hug,
death and strangeness
pool their resources.

 

 

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