Listen to M.A. Hoak read “her crown in glory.”
her crown in glory
they had my grandmother’s funeral
on a steamy sunday in august
(she’d died in may
but, given the virus,
they’d all been forced to wait)
i do not know if they wore masks
or if they stood six feet apart
i cannot tell you which hymns were sung—
which flowers they laid on her grave
(i hope they were purple; her favorite color)
what else is there to say?
except, of course, i was not there
i didn’t even know it was happening
(even though my own mother
arranged the service)
no one told or invited me
i can not say which of my flaws
made it easiest to omit me:
my distance, my sickness,
my living in sin or gleeful apostasy.
i only know
one painful truth
(the one i’ve spent
seven years learning):
for the disabled and chronically ill
the ability to grieve
is a luxury
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