The Loneliest Funeral

Symmetric lines of faded black lace 

reflected back at me through a grimy mirror.

Steele myself

it's just an hour.

Pumped up velvet in shades of grey 

to tiptoe across the wet grass 

headed for the grave marker that has yet to read your name.

The clouds are white and wispy 

the sky is pure 

so unlike my thoughts of death and worms.

Macabre wonders 

if they'll let you keep your glasses. 

You don't need them.

Chalk and blanched powder that doesn't match

the way your cheeks were coral

when you laughed.

Motions of mourning 

in tacky floral wallpaper

surround the crowds

that hardly knew you.

They'll play the songs they think you'd like

but forget 

how you hated to see family cry.

What you truly were 

will be lost 

to what they needed you to be

tonight

and your cold body will sleep 

forever

in padding of fabrics 

you hated the color of.