Order of Service

Grief hangs here now

With the unworn tie

Bought in the hope he’d be here

The date bought forward and the appropriate food.

It stares me in the face, the four familiar blister packs left still by the bed

Usurped in the last few weeks with ‘something for the pain’

And a chair for awkward visitors

Repeating that he ‘looks peaceful’

odd that, as he never was.

It takes the place of thought

invades the writing of lists

Once filled with biscuits,

meals for two and full fat milk.

It holds me amongst the pillows, the dark

Then dreams replace It with him

Walking our veiled girl proudly toward her future.

And mine, alone.

It holds my shaking hand as he should have

As I check the cars

The flowers, the order of service

He was right to go for the cheaper suit.

‘Daft to pay big for something you’ll just wear once’