I've eaten more ham,
Wrapped in grief...
Scalloped potatoes,
Tastelessly chewed...
Corn and rolls,
Swallowed
Like a sin eater
Rituals in the mid-west
Of american legion-eagles-elks-moose lodges
With plastic cloths on the tables
Like the plastic bags in which
I can see a glimpse
Of your hand
Your hair, not there,
Your eye
I despise the ritual
But cannot stay away if
You were loved
And cherished
And blood
So we wash clean
with the wet-nap, thoughtfully lemon-scented
Like the lemon water you loved
And we move through the hands
The hugs
The words
Like breathing,
Not underwater,
But under dirt.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem