The Funeral Band
by Joanne Marisa Leow
almost black sunlight beat down our backs
its impossibly white glare
whittling away at our sight.
Feeble, this
to the grief that
she must have bore.
(Cartharsis, they say
funerals for the living
not for the dead
not of the dead)
Funny,
if I had my way;
there would be none of this:
no profound elegies of eulogies
no deafening bands preventing thought
Just utter silence
(of mouths and minds).
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