I thought I knew grief and how to mourn,
losses suffered, loved ones scorned,
Scourges of God, Redemption Devine.
Then, you died, and I’m not fine.
At your funeral, we knelt, we prayed,
sang the hymns, our hearts displayed
for all to see, the tears we wept,
and now, in private, the tears I kept
hidden from world come again
to bid me company like, you, old friend.
Nights as this one at the kitchen table
where the glass of vodka renders me unable
to speak of this enormous loss,
into the Outer Darkness tossed.
Back to the funny quipping face for the crowd
knowing I’d rather howl aloud.
You would tell me, “Shhh, hush…not now.”
So, I gulp more vodka, and my head I bow
as the tears flow down my ruddy cheek
knowing I won’t inherit with the meek.