the wake

i'm sorry i'm not the saint i wanted to be
for you
i'm sorry i'm not brighter lighter
and filled with lilies
and book pages with hearts on the side
i'm sorry i can't be that nice
even though i would gladly
die for you to understand
that it is only because of that
that i am
perfect
for
you
but because i am kinder
and darker and my love is made of flesh
muscle and blood i will let us go
i will arrange for our funeral
       bring crying old women
          to mourn us right long and loud
but remember
                                  remember
                   remember
once the wake ends
and the bodies are buried
Easter is no more