I Will Send Flowers
A Lamentation
I hear her voice
the opportunity for leaving
a message presents itself . . .
How do I ask for an address
for the flowers?
Where can I send images
of life during death?
I open my mouth,
my voice cracks. I lick
my lips, “Hey. Hey. I
wanted to check on you,
see how you and the family's
doing. There's no reason to call
me back. I know there's too
much going on right now.
Whenever you can, send me
the address where I can send
the flowers. I love you.”
I press pound. I hear a beep.
I hang up. I cry again.
Life gives us death.
Death gives us life.
During a pandemic, here’s
another funeral I cannot
attend.
Distanced from a family
I've known since birth.
It feels unnatural.
The very thing I fear the most
slipped into the veins
of another human being,
crushed her lungs, pounced
on her heart, and left her
family bewildered.
Yet, we live.
I smooth my mask gently
with my clean hands,
I say a silent prayer.
I will send flowers —
flowers in the place
of my body, my fearful
tired, and overwhelmed body.
I will send flowers,
flowers to replace
me.
©2020 Tremaine L. Loadholt
