Since you came to my funeral, I’ll return the favor,
Arriving just before your coffin crosses the church door,
And I’ll slip into the line of weepers.
Weepers, mind you, not mourners.
Weeping for the cameras, so Facebook knows
That people showed they cared.
But mourning…
Mourning speaks deeper,
A silent cry of the soul that truly cared.
I’ll stand with the weepers,
Dab my eyelids, sniffle on cue,
And greet all the right faces.
Your great aunt—
The one who hugs so tight,
She flattens my chest.
Your grandmother—
Her weave tangled in my earrings.
Your uncle—
His hands resting on my bum
Like he’s shaping dough.
Since you came to my funeral, I’ll come to yours,
I’ll place a wreath on your coffin,
Pluck out the petals, leave the thorns.
I’ll deliver a eulogy
About how close we were, how deep our bond,
And in the collection box, I’ll leave my gift—
A copy of my HIV results,
And a photo from that passionate night.