The Viewing Poem by Keith Langdon

We shuffled slowly in her direction,
shaking the hand or softly touching the shoulder
of one last seen at crowded wedding reception
or distant summer reunion.
The heavy fragrance of a tapestry
of rich roses, clovish carnations, and fern fronds
tickled our noses
as we advanced on the polished grain
of the yawning casket.
She wept softly,
hugging an awkward wellwisher
who fed her carefully prepared condolences
that did little to appease her starving spirit.
Taking her hand, I spoke the words,
but my mind questioned the somber ritual,
wondered at the morbid display,
and criticized the extravagance
for one no longer there.
Then, once again recounting his last moments,
she tenderly stroked back his thinning hair,
adjusted the skewed eyeglasses,
and lovingly kissed the cold forehead –
And I understood.