A new poem by Port Chalmers poet and novelist Majella Cullinane.

Virtual Funeral, April 2020

Press the PLAY button of absence

First video:
you are laid out in the nursing home room,
dressed in a baby blue cardigan, a white duvet
with a purple sash draped over you.
Your skin is pale, your mouth just a little open.
I can almost hear you say –
I better close it before I catch flies.
A candle on the bedside table; along the bed
three soft toys, two bears and a piebald pig
that your grandson sent you one birthday.
Your neck is covered with a white and blue scarf.

Press the PLAY button of absence

Second video:
In the coffin, your face is subtly made up,
your expression – severe;
on any other day, I might have wondered
what it was that grieved you?
Again, you’re wearing a scarf,
this time a purple one. When I ask my sister
about the scarves she says: oh, you know
what she was like, she never liked her neck.

Press the PLAY button of absence

Third video:
a grey morning, your neighbours stand
on the street, six feet apart, paying their respects.
The hearse drives past your house one last time,
turns, then waits behind two cars at the traffic lights.

Press the PLAY button of absence

I have no image of you being lowered into the ground.

On the morning of your burial, it’s late evening here.
Everyone’s in bed, the house is quiet.
I’m in the sitting room, lying on the couch,
waiting for the call from my sister.
She tells me she feels a little better now that you are safe.

Press the PLAY button of absence

Like so many others, I was not there.

We were not there.

The Friday Poem is edited by Chris Tse. Submissions are currently closed and will open again soon.