at the towering catholic church
with its all too familiar pointed tops
framed with tinted glasses of father and child
the mosiac reminiscence of life's surprises

the mourning moment awakes
the people step into the double-door
in grim vests and crimson lips
as if the black net beneath the hat
could hide the great pain deep inside

flyers printed in memory of Helena
monochrome with a hint of grief
as He steps up to the foyer
the eulogy of hatred and despondency commences

the people creep around the coffin
bestowing their last wishes to the one
they open their bibles and bow their heads
in prayer, in lamentation, in such dolor
that a tiny resurrection was evoked somewhere, somehow

in a black silk corset dress
with crimson silk undergown
she danced melodiously down the church aisle
with her ballet moves and strutting
a kind of dolor cast upon her
as she extended her arm to stroke the hair
of someone dear to her
jerked back at the thought of her actual existence
and continued her ritual down the aisle

when it was time for the mortification
to conclude
once and for all
bury the hatchet, bury the hatred
they carried the coffin down the stairs
the rain beat smoothly on the stone
while the others carried black umbrellas
in sore distress
with a sense of couture

pushing the box into the incinerator
all was done
and all repining and rue had passed away.