Funeral Parlor Tricks Poem by Kaleb Falin

When first I heard the bell toll,
And felt the edges in liberty crack,
Cold ringing swarmed the fat of my soul,
Chilling me,
Shaking me to my core,
Shooting through my bone,
They lifted me up to see such a lifeless object,
I didn’t know her anymore,
I saw Grandma surrounded,
She wasn’t my Grandma,
That’s not how she did her makeup,
And I thought she should be smiling,

The tension in the room,
Now I know the restraining choke,
Of tension and strained small talk,
Even the restroom was stale and suffocating,
The smell of funeral home followed me there,
The must and mildew of the dead,
Was like the dated furniture,
It wasn't inviting and I didn't want to sit down,
Is this what death smells like?
The reek of the dying,
For some reason I recalled her house smelled of bleach and powders,