Resting along Bayou Lafourche

I went to a funeral today.

Catholic mass, rosary preceding

The line to the single bathroom in between the wait was bi-gender

The trash can in there was full of hand towels

On the wall in the sacristy of open doors I could see the left and right

Divided by families of the deceased’s bride’s kin to one and the

Family of his children from his first marriage on the other

Each side recited the pledges of ringed beads as I held my water

The walls in the entry way had photographs in sepia tones of male Caucasian pastors

Each had a name plaque beneath starting with Father Gautreaux in 1864 in Montegut, Louisiana

Collar after collar spanned two sections of wall for one hundred and fifty years

Of penises vowed out of vaginas

The current priest, (I checked the picture, not a pastor) appeared to be Indian

With a wireless microphone for bayou country

All the houses are on one side of the highway here, back a bit, elevated

The original church was struck by lighting and burned in 1954

The pall bearers were supposed to have a post-rosary meeting before the mass

There were no voices, so I asked the priest in passing and he mentioned something about

A white garment over the casket; it was laid like a table cloth for purity of stage

With two crucifixes over the top, handed to the family later like souvenirs

I had not been in Mass for a few years, last was after my daughter’s first communion,

Which was a severable marking to pause operations to quit taking her to church,

That pastor asked the children to pray for his mother who committed suicide

During his homily to second graders, he also called for a woman to get him a can of peaches

Read the nutritional label; explained to the kids, “You are what you eat.”

He asked the kids, “So what happens to you when you eat the Eucharist? 

What do you become?”  One of the kids replied, “Jesus”

Answers percolating a path, with a cut out sheep,

A few months later my second grader wondered enough about Santa Claus

We changed our prayers to sayings of, “Peace, Love, We are all interconnected.”

Before meals, no Sunday field trips, but for contemplation by our garden

Writing in notebooks and a few talks on the science of the universe

Blasphemy abounds and I stood today, saying not one phrase as I heard my family

Reply responsorial psalms, my hands held the top of the pew before me during

The Our Father as I am visualizing the statues placid stares

Wondering in the sterile bath if there is a God, how could he want or have any part of this

Car accident, kids, wife, tears, garments, irises in floral decadence

Shinning sun and a graveyard mausoleum within walking distance behind the church

Rolling thunder in swamp land’s cloudless verdict, flood and I saw my mother and father

Thankful in view suits and time, lowering the casket with aid of five other men

Hearing the concrete rub against the bottom of the oak box

Push the handles in; have to hold from the bottom

The extensions won’t fit in the opening; Jesus asked the people to roll away Lazarus’ stone 

I heard in the Gospel today; holy water sprinkle words and the service has ended

Lay the pall bearer boutonnieres over the rectangle in the hole

I put mine in last and felt a small amount of guilt as I saw another’s slide off to the side

Imagining the flowers wilt over the fresh cut oak shelling the body of a beloved man

Who loved to carve wood into waterfowl; I think what he could have made with such a tree

If it were not his body’s resting slate; here in swamp land.