Funeral by Ivy Page

The candlelight carries some blessing.
Its gentle glow, forgiving the way bright red lipstick sticks
to old teeth, belts bulging under the strain
of over-grown bellies, the way caked-on skin-filler
perfects dead faces.

It inspires whispers from the loudest
of on-lookers, sympathy givers and family.
No longer there for the dead. Now
a ritual in approach, gathering with half-
smiles and kind lies.

Great candelabras stand guard over
satin reflecting a glow of pink
against pale skin. Close-up
it makes them shudder, weep,and move away.
Too real for comfort.

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