Before the Funeral, After the Wake
The parade of cars
departs from the church lot
heavy with permanence.
I follow, our hazards
a beg for remembrance,
a morse for salvation,
the hearse leaves the station
and makes for what’s after
but even death need merge
onto highway to get there.
All my life the fragile
corpse of my faith
buried and exhumed
like boots in the winter.
January hovers
like a cold wet bird.
departs from the church lot
heavy with permanence.
I follow, our hazards
a beg for remembrance,
a morse for salvation,
the hearse leaves the station
and makes for what’s after
but even death need merge
onto highway to get there.
All my life the fragile
corpse of my faith
buried and exhumed
like boots in the winter.
January hovers
like a cold wet bird.
Matthew Gustafson is a graduate of Lafayette College and Stony Brook University. He is the Poetry Editor at Folklore Review, and has been published in The Shore, Eunoia Review, Beaver Magazine, and elsewhere. He’s hoping you’ve seen his glasses somewhere, and is also currently working on a novel about an ancient art cabal and a love triangle involving a dead woman. To help him with either endevour, you can find his Twitter at @mgustafsonwords.
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