You escape your sister dying
as we make friends with death
at dinner: leftovers and bottles
of red wine to replay our side
of magnificent dear departures
rich with pride, all the ashes
left to live in symbolic places—
living monuments wrought
by hand to absorb our grief.
We knew them all, see them
stand around the table being
near, each fine quirk strong
as when they breathed mirth
into their last words we call
forth as we remember them.
We move up a growing list
with boozy laughter knowing
we’ve done well, been lucky
despite diminishing diversions
well-beyond this moment full
of exceptional examples.
for JEG
drycrikjournal 