Dressing For My Father’s Funeral

Dressing For My Father’s Funeral

I held the black camisole up

and a tear fell from somewhere –

a diamond on the edge

of a ray of light.

I buried my face in the blackness

of the lace at the neck of the camisole.

At the neck, too narrow

to hold anything

important anymore.

I let it go.

It came back as a river.

All the memories.

He said, “You and me kid,

we’re from the same club.

The Broken Hearts Club.”

He said, “You and me kid.”

He said, “You and me.”

©Julie Eger

I went to a funeral today. He was the father of my best friend.