I was looking for stamps,
The second drawer down
contained
an old postcard (unwritten)
seven AA batteries, a light bulb (candle bayonet fitting)
a roll of tape, instructions for a, long since gone, mobile phone
and a collection of the dead.
No stamps.
Faces on the Order of Service
were all smiling.
I remember those smiles,
and laughter and who they
were.
I carefully laid them out, by date,
forming a cortege across the
kitchen table.
I don’t recall the prayers or the hymns
I get glimpses of red and tearful eyes
or grim and stoical faces.
Handshakes, hugs,
deft touches on the shoulder
The air was filled with the muted tone
of
platitudes,
epithets
and the exhalations
of those,
we,
who were not
the dead.
I gather them together,
edges straight,
and place them back in their
pine, or light oak box
I return them to a silent,
dark embrace,
I must remember to by stamps
I slide the drawer
closed,
Lovely check my blog
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