border ballad 2

Urns exist.

Urns and artificial flowers and artificial grass exist.

There are coffin trestles and crematorium shovels and stretchers.

Engraving machines exist.

Engraving machines and body measuring sticks exist.

There are embalming gloves and embalming tables with integrated sinks.

There are body rolling techniques and jigsaws and picture books in waiting rooms.

Masks, gloves, aprons, scrubs, and disinfectants exist.

There are memorial ribbons, charity runs, obituaries, and phone-in radio dedications.

There are gun salutes and bag pipes by rivers and snow fall in April.

There are shower trays and digital photo frames.

And sympathy cards. Sympathy cards exist.

Sympathy cards and funeral car flags. And pets who rest their heads on chests.

There are cheese and onion rolls, teacups, and black tights.

Black suits exist.

Journals and gratitudes, steroids and enemas exist.

There are people who don’t know what to say and books offering guidance.

There are helplines and there are ladies who come to do your hair and there is guidance for small children.

Infant ashes boxes exist.

Sippy cups and photo albums and keepsake boxes exist.

There are children who come after and take your name and there are wedding speeches about empty chairs.

Letters to let others know happen

And there is unexpected excitement and there is unsolicited advice. And longing.

Longing exists. And remembering.

There are bitter-sweet jokes exchanged and poems read aloud, and lists left incomplete.

There are batch-cooked meals sat in freezers and words that catch in throats.

There is holding someone up by the elbows and saying ‘I know, I know’.

Saying ‘I know’ exists.

Not being able to face it occurs.

Not being able to face it, and staying completely still, and wearing their clothes occurs.

There are hymns and hands placed on chests and nods given.

Savings accounts and empty boxes in wardrobes exist. And woodlands. There are woodlands and passing skies and make-do speakers.

There are doors being locked for the last time.

There are streets that look different, and voicemails saved and names stored in phones.

And turning cold exists. Turning cold exists.

And sorrow.

And tenderness.

There is sorrow and there is tenderness.

Sorrow exists.

Sorrow exists.