Heaven Is Comfort, But It's Still Not

I Was The Girl He Had Chosen To Kiss. He Wanted, Somehow To Set Me Free. He Didn't Want To Burn My Photo Or Toss It Away, But He Didn't Want To Look At Me Anymore, Either.

The Dead Are Never Exactly Seen By The Living, But Many People Seem Acutely Aware Of Something Changed Around Them. They Speak Of A Chill In The Air. The Mates Of The Deceased Wake From Dreams And See A Figure Standing At The End Of Thier Bed, Or In A Doorway, Or Boarding, Phantomlike, A City Bus.

It Was Buckley, As My Father And Sister Joined The Group And Listened To Grandma Lynn’s Countless Toasts, Who Saw Me. He Saw Me Standing Under The Rustic Colonial Clock And Stared. He Was Drinking Champagne. There Were Strings Coming Out From All Around Me, Reaching Out, Waving In The Air. Someone Passed Him A Brownie. He Held It In His Hand But Did Not Eat. He Saw My Shape And Face, Which Had Not Changed-the Hair Still Parted Down The Middle, The Chest Still Flat And Hips Undeveloped-and Wanted To Call Out My Name. It Was Only A Moment, And Then I Was Gone.

I Missed Her Then But It Was An Odd Sort Of Missing Because By Then, I Knew The Meaning Of Forever.

Who Would Have Thought Something That Happened That Long Ago Could Have Such Power?