coffin

Good With Death: A Pastor’s Lament

They say I’m
good with death;
I do death well, they say.
“That was lovely,”
they murmur as they go.

At the reception, I sip my wine

(No, I don’t!
I guzzle it.
I sneak to a corner
and scarf it down,
then another glass,
an anesthetic
because
despite their words,
I’m not
good with death.
Don’t tell me I’m
good with death!
I don’t want to be
good with death!
I don’t aspire to be
good with death!
Just give me
another glass of wine.)

and accept their
compliments,
“So meaningful,
thank you.”

Death,
I have told them,
is conquered.
I have quoted the Prayer Book:
“Life is changed,
not ended.”
I have recited a poem
(maybe “Go Down, Death”).
I have said nice things
about the dead person
who might not have been
a nice person, but
I have said them
anyway.
“That was lovely,”
they have murmured.

I have accepted their
compliments,
“So meaningful,
thank you.”

But will I see them
on Sunday morning?

Probably not.
Because, you see,
I’m really not
good with Death,
and they know it.

– C Eric Funston, 23 May 2016