loved you the most
I heard last week that you died.
I called your office to ask you a question
and the receptionist had to tell me.
Of course I didn’t hear it from your family.
How would they know to call me?
They, who don’t even know my last name
and think I was a heathen and no good for you.
They, tied to you by blood, never knew
I wished for that tie to you too.
They never knew I put you on a pedastal.
They never knew I made you my god.
I went to your funeral today. I wore a veil
over the brim of my hat and stayed in the back
while they lowered your casket into the ground.
When everyone was at your gravesite
the minister talked about the ones you left behind:
your parents, your brother, your sister.
What he didn’t know was that you left
me behind too. The one that loved you the most.
I knew I could never have you in my life.
But I needed to know you were alive, so I could go on living.
And the minister spoke of how your family would miss you.
And I thought, what about me.
What do I do with nothing to love.
Copyright Janet Kuypers.
All rights reserved. No material
may be reprinted without express permission.
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