Poem: August 30, 2019

Drawing Horses on the Program

At the funeral, I am interested
in the kids, the little girls with
their hair pulled tight into bows,
the boys with their scruffiness
and sports jackets. One child
spends most of the eulogy
flopped around her mother's
neck, looking back at me and
when the solemn hymn begins,
she claps her hands. My own
daughter, older, lowers her head
during prayer to fidget at the
buttons on her dress and flip
the program, front to back,
looking for something else to
read. As adults, we come to
recognize the structures of this
ceremony, our purpose here.
We let go. We say what needs
to be said. We hold our hands
out just so. We stand and brace
against an invisible storm that
we all have had to lean into, but
the children, not as used to the
comforts of hard and formal
surfaces, not as comfortable
with the tightness of ties and
dress shoes, still find in this
space their quiet ways to play.