Remembering Death
Janet Kuypers
Compiled 09/01/11
I (from “Harder to Burn”, writtem 09/06/06)
you hear of goth teenagers
liking the idea of posters of caskets
or you see come Halloween
props of caskets at trick stores
and tacky novelty shops
imagine Son of Svengouli
coming out of a casket
to introduce another B horror movie
(or was it Elvira?)
and hey, didn’t one of those tacky tv shows
I don’t know, The Munsters, the Adams Family
didn’t some show have a vampire
that slept in a coffin?
it’s funny, caskets
right now, all I think of
is the cardboard-based casket
we chose for viewing my mother
before she was cremated
you don’t spend for a quality casket
for a cremation,
I mean, a better wood
is harder to burn
so settle for cardboard
so, think of the novelty of caskets
at times like this,
it’s all you can do
II (from “Wanting to Touch a Corpse” written 09/05/06)
when she knew she was dying, I wrote her a letter
telling her that I just wanted to be able to
put my arms around her and hold her for a very long time
to show her that I loved her,
and that she meant that much to me
when I saw her in the coffin
I wanted to touch her hand, touch her cheek
just make some sort of contact with her once more
but
but I knew I couldn’t cope
with feeling her cold dead skin
III (from “Knelt and Cried”, written 09/03/06)
when I saw her in the coffin
I told her that I hope
that I carry on any of her kindness
because that’s they way she’ll live on
because losing her
makes the world a worse place
before I left her
I started to run my hands from my head along my chest
into a cross
because I wanted all of the spirits to know
that she was there
and that she is to be welcomed
because she is blessed
even if it’s only from the likes of me
IV (from “A Little Angel Inside” written 09/11/06)
as the days wore on
it seemed strange,
that on the day the towers fell years ago
where every television station and newspaper
was praising our resolve for all of the death
that has been forced upon us
well, it seems strange
that this is the day we picked up my mother’s ashes
seems eerily strange
and Kristina from Fuller Funeral Home
even handed me a small maroon bag
tied tightly shut
and she whispered to me,
“these are your mother’s earrings”
it never occurred to me
that the earring would survive
and here they are,
in a little velour bag
when we left Fuller Funeral Home
I think I held that little red bag
like there was a little angel inside
and I had to be delicate
to make sure nothing happened to it
because I was it’s keeper now
I’ll treat it well
and treasure it always
I promise
V (ending from “the Messenger” written 08/31/06)
when I’d tell people about the death
I’d be asked if there was anything I needed
I couldn’t think of any words
I’m the messenger
and I couldn’t think of any words
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