Gatecrasher



you attend your funeral, slipping in among mourners
in the guise of wayward cousin, illegitimate child;
no one questions you. not now. besides,
your resemblance to the deceased is unmistakable.

you feel terribly young. your dignified children
nod vaguely at you, brows furrowed, struggling
to place your face, wondering whose kid you are.

you stand before the coffin in awkward respect
looking at a body you barely recognise
inhuman in death. something inside you flinches
sensing its home, unsettled by the void.

eulogies fade out of meaning. you never knew
the person they speak of. chastising glances
still your fidgeting. you do not belong.

you leave, sneaking past aisles of tears
their unseeing remorse, yearning despair
uncontrollable grieving. it would be rude
to announce your presence. 


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