Babs

I saw Bab’s body.
She was thin,
Wasting,
And not remembering.

Then at the funeral
I stood among the
Branches of the
Family tree –
Just me
Among the many
Who watched
The chipboard
Coffin carried by.

And I had
Touched Bab’s body
Before she died.
She was thin
And not remembering.

In the church
The priest had
Called her Barbara.
But she was Bab’s
So thin
Within the
Chipboard box.

A hymn was
Played
While I was
In the branches
Of the tree,
Above the heads
In liquid light.

I wept then
Quiet among the
Branches
As Bab’s rose to her
Wedding,

Light flaming from
The many single heads
All unknowing.

To think her
Funeral was her
Wedding.
And all remains
Were laid to rest.