2019: the year I did back to back funerals after we buried you.
How long will it be before those words stop feeling strange?
This time the day was wet and raw, like your funeral was.
This time there were two daughters grieving, but I wasn’t
one of them. Except I still am, sometimes. It depends
on what song comes on the radio, what phase the moon.
Today when we read psalm 23 aloud I remembered my sister
leaning over to whisper, "'my cup runneth over,' Mom used to
say that all the time!" It made me smile. You
make me smile, even at a funeral that reminds
me of yours, reminds me — everything reminds me —