2004-11-19
5:05 p.m.
On Funerals, Dying, and Real Fun
I decided I would go back to darkish brown hair, sort of a sombre look for Aunt Laura's Funeral.
Isn't it funny how people tend to say Funeral and not funeral? And is it really an anagram for "real fun"? I reckon so.
I wish I had gotten to know her better. A year is not a long time to know somebody, even if you do become close to that person. You don't mind rubbing hands and feet from the side of a hospital bed. You don't mind brushing someone's hair or reading to them, even if your reading voice sucks and makes you read about twelve times slower.
Anyway.
Laura liked this little number, so this is for her.
I depart as air.
I shake my white locks to the runaway sun
I bequeath myself to the ground
to grow from the grass that I love
If you want me again
look for me under your bootsoles
you will hardly know what I am or who I mean
but I shall be good health to you nevertheless
missing me one place
look another
I stop somewhere,
waiting for you.
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