John Solt

for Khun Na
THE FUNERAL


the price for this poem
was too high
someone had to die

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bittersweet

the new baby
is passed around
at his aunt's funeral

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she drowned at thirty three
in a lifetime of sorrow
and three inches of water

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go ahead and jump
you ain't got a clue
evangelical!

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the chickens here
walk around
as if they never
heard of "bird flu"

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bunless burgers
meatless burgers
hold the mustard
hold the mayo
just give me an empty one

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the first night
just an old blanket
on the corpse

the second night
a coffin with lights
and flowers

the same sadness
disbelief
that she's dead

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the police in costume
played themselves
when they broke up
the carnival

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his hairlip
worshipped symmetry
and synchronicity

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hours before the chanting
a string was strung
from the sutra to the deceased

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who said
"here today
gone tomorrow"

and where are
they now?

should've been
clearer

"here yesterday
gone today"

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moths swarm furiously
at the funeral lights
invigorating death
with flickering

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one of the five monks
left his cushion and sat
with the mourning family

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aging is
sighing

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the sutra reading
gave dignity
to her mysterious
death

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a three year old boy
runs up to the coffin
"auntie, wake up
wake up!"

he asks
"why is she sleeping so long?
why is she
in a box?"

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he talked about
stopping genocide
with a casino tone of voice

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the old people
mentioned
her saintliness
because she passed
quickly
unchanged smooth skin
and not a drop
of blood

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THE CREMATION


the three girls
got new clothes
for their mother's
cremation

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it's saddest
for the young ones
who don't
yet realize
how sad
it is

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the monks
arrive for the cremation
in a wire netted truck
usually for chickens
or deporting aliens

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the music is guilty
of welling up
an infinite sadness

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for some the cremation
is an occasion
to show gold jewelry
against black clothing

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his manliness
made him weep
like a woman

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everyone wants a cremation like hers
but who is willing to die for it?

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firecrackers explode
while the coffin
is carried from house
to temple

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the saint says
"go ahead
and burn me"

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the oldest monk
can afford to show up late

makes up for it
downing a soft drink
with gusto

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during the sutra chanting
the hiss of betal nut spit

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the cremation
is a horizontal wire
test of emotions

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some partake
from a distance
not wanting
contamination

closer to the coffin
the pure weep
uncontrollably

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the monks with the shortest time to live
hold the string to the coffin taut
while the younger monks
let it slacken in their palms

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hushed silence
and the crackle
of flames

the fearful
hold onto each other
not to get pulled along
and out

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the mother's tears
pour out
crystal anguish

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summer heat
coming off
a burning corpse

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while she is burning
they throw on
the trinkets
she cherished

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peeling away
each layer
to the bone
then marrow