YOU HAD TO GO
TO FUNERALS
You had to go to funerals
Even if you didn't know the
People
Your Mama always did
Usually your Pa.
In new patent leather shoes
It wasn't so bad
And if it rained
The graves dropped open
And if the sun was shining
You could take some of the
Flowers home
In your pocket
book. At six and seven
The face in the gray box
Is always your daddy's
Old schoolmate
Mowed down before his
Time.
You don't even ask
After a while
What makes them lie so
Awfully straight
And still. If there's a picture of
Jesus underneath
The coffin lid
You might, during a boring sermon,
Without shouting or anything,
Wonder who painted it;
And how he would like
All eternity to stare
It down.
[by Alice Walker, more to come ...]
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╭─╮╭╮ ╭╮╮ ╭╮
│╰╯│╰╮╭╭╮│ │╭─╮╭ ╮│╰╮"At the touch of love everyone
╭╮││ ╯││││ │╭ │││││ ╯ becomes a poet."
╰─╯╰╰╯╰─│╰╯╯╰╰╯╰╰╯╰╰╯ -- Plato
───── ╰─╯ ─────────── http://darkshadows.org/~skyhawk ─
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