The Third Ceremony


I am the only one at your funeral.

I fill the vase with the right flowers and press my face
into them, but only smell your cigarettes.

I recite the obituary that I’ve been saving for this occasion

ever since the summer you started putting fireflies
on your tongue and winning contests for the cruelest hands.

I admit, it’s a flawless performance, gifted to an empty room,

but I can’t help but hate you for not cracking
an embalmed smirk during the funny parts.

I carry your casket alone

which is also an exercise
I’ve been training for.

The hearse is the only one waiting for me to finish.

There will be no procession,
no cars following behind.

You’ve left no shadow.

Pawned all the people who could have been here
for highs even you knew weren’t worth it.

I am glad—the worst is over.

I received the phone call
I always feared, confirmed your body.

I open a black umbrella, blame you for the rain.

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