After the funeral, your hair <br />and skin baked to ash, <br /> <br />your body brought back in a gray box <br />with a bag of soot inside, <br /> <br />box and bag on a pedestal by the table, <br />your brother came to see you. <br /> <br />He asked where you were, <br />and when I said By the table <br /> <br />he thought I said On the table <br />and he said Here? <br /> <br />peeking under the lid <br />of an empty drinking cup, <br /> <br />as though we had gone <br />to the local Kwik Stop <br /> <br />for gas and fountain drinks <br />then decided what the hell? <br /> <br />and used a cardboard Pepsi cup <br />for our mother’s urn. <br /> <br />He actually thought that, <br />and his eyes got wide <br /> <br />as he stood in the dining room, <br />unspeakably appalled, <br />staring at that cup <br /> <br />and mother, oh sweet jesus <br />how I wanted to laugh.<br /><br />Michael Meyerhofer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cardboard-urn/
