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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)

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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