Kissing My Grandmother at Her Funeral

By Terry Tierney

Makeup on her cheeks pink like a doll, 
scent of perfume tinged with chemicals, 
her grim smile as if she knows the secret, 
no hug from her folded arms, no return kiss, 
no plate of cookies to reward my visit.
Powder coats my lips like floured dough.
I follow the family line, my silent carnation,
the altar piled with bouquets and photos
like butterflies pinned to cardboard,
her casket much too heavy for her, too large,
her body shrunken, light enough to float.
Her soul might have risen already, curling
with smoke from the men hovering nearby,
their mingled whispers, their memories, 
recalling her sly sense of humor, a few jokes
muffled by the organ procession on tape.
Some say she will wait in damp clay
until that moment when all emerge at once, 
each breaking through their wood chrysalis.
How will I find her among the crowd,
her tiny figure, her outsized dress?
Her cosmetic face, cheeks much too firm,
cold as batter from her icebox?
My eyes dim with tears, unmanly, 
hoping no one else is watching. 
Will I even be there? Yes, of course,
she says in her private voice.
Now don’t be silly.

Terry’s collection of poetry, The Poet’s Garage, a Pushcart Prize nominee, was published by Unsolicited Press in May 2020. His poems and stories are coming or recently appeared in Ghost Parachute, Rust and Moth, Fiction Pool, Typishly, The Mantle, Valparaiso Poetry Review, The Lake and other publications. Lucky Ride (Unsolicited Press), an irreverent Vietnam-era road novel, is set to release in 2021. His website is https://terrytierney.com.