when Jack died it was spring

air was fresh

as the evening i shared a cigarette

on my friends back porch

breathable

polluted all the same

years before Jack

grandma died in spring

that seasons air was pollinated

and i had only cried once

her cold casket hand in mine

i couldn't sneeze the feeling out

everything in bloom

made eulogies feel fiction

and tombstones prop-like

funerals were garden parties

and cremation a bonfire

grass grew over the grave

swiftly in springs enthusiasm

life cycles proceeded

as green took Jacks place

his feet were flat on the grass

while he rocked back and forth

on his wooden porch swing

but grass plants over him now

like mossy skys

sage stratosphere

oxygenated for someone

who no longer needs it

spring mocks

spring taunts

brunch held in place of a wake

as spring is for eggs and juice

that i can’t enjoy

with the taste of funeral home

stuck on my tongue

the words of eulogies

printed on the whites of my eyes

obituaries will be replaced

by farmers market auctions

$500 for the cow

though he will die too, eventually