The Matriarch’s Funeral
 
All gather, pull respect from pockets,
hold warmth of memories
to our cheeks: Picnics peppered
with baseball games and playgrounds.
Adults playing Spades in the shade.
 
Stitches of blood link generations
in this quilt. We nod when words
might tear holes in fabric.
I forgo the chance to ask
for the money you owe.
You fail to remind our brother
he wrecked your Wrangler.
 
A single thread may loosen
over time. Some stay tight
and straight. Others break.
Our cousin staggers into the church,
rehab a distant memory for all.
Our aunt overdosed long ago.
 
As we leave the cemetery,
moods melt from sadness to resentment.
Pendulum swings—
quilt continues to fray and fade.