I stand in the funeral home
Near the boy I love
And his family
Thinking about death
And life
And the passage of time
Each day a small glass bead
Strung onto a chain
precious, transparent, delicate
slippery
too soon each slides to the floor
in a heap
And, we try to scoop them up
In pictures and
Memories
Remember when Mom was young?
That’s you as a baby…
Was that your graduation?
Her wedding?
Your prom?
They roll between the cracks
And under the furniture
And lodge in dark places
Where each of us holds them
Stringing them on
To new chains
That’s what we’re left with
That’s what we’re given
A legacy
Of slippery glass beads
That roll into our
Hearts and
Break at the strangest of times
Leaving sharp shards
That both cut and comfort
And, I reach for his hand to hold it
As I stand near the aging women
Once beautiful
And, the young women
Once children
And, see how little we
Change
Because things looked different
Reflected in glass
Our future held in
its transparent orb
that shows everything
But the slippery truth
I stand in the funeral home
Near the boy I love
And his family
Thinking about death
And life
And the passage of time
And how it both cuts
And comforts
Because what it cannot show
or ever reflect
Is the face love takes
And, how it will look
with age,
wearing the scars
we carved
And, the grace
we gave.