I don’t remember who sat in the
twelve chairs beneath that canopy,
but I remember
it was purple
and it had
and it hung
limp and still.
The heat-soaked lawn was speckled
in the high
A spray of blood red roses and white carnations
of dark green leaves
the dark grain,
Pillars of gray and black-flecked granite
me between slabs of white marble
bouquets of rainbow flowers and shining silver urns,
soldiers with brightly plumed hats.
And everywhere there was black
sitting with their heads bowed.
Swollen eyes were red, wrinkled cheeks were pale white,
with red hair
sorrows of blue.
I don’t remember who sat in those twelve chairs,
the day was
but I know
Grandpa would have liked all the color.