Paintings of Funerals

In a funeral painting, the sky isn’t raining too hard or glowing too brightly. The upturn of collars does indicate that some frigid breeze blows lightly – gathers up dandelions spent from igniting themselves into furious yellow and dying. The hellos come late, if at all – all replying is only done out of courtesy. And still worse is the leaves which are shadows of leaves that drape over the trees and you’d think that they’d keep a secret or two but they don’t. I know. I searched through each blade – each slightly damp dark thing to find something saved or forgotten or meant to be safe, tucked away and got nothing but raw greens and occupied days. And all I can feel is that sooner or later I’ll forget the rules of courtesy, too. Do this for me: do not come to my funeral.

~ by perfectionatrix on May 1, 2012.

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