writingsparebloglmao

[writingsparebloglmao]

to carry a coffin

I stood here,

more than seven years ago,

with the soles of my feet rooted to the ground

as Rabbi Liboro spoke heartfelt words of the person I loved most in the world.

It was cold and miserable that day,

and my hollow 10-year-old bones shivered

as they lowered my grandmother into the ground,

next to a vacant plot

simply waiting for you.

I am no longer a scared 10 year old on the outside.

I have grown into a body that I will make my own,

although it feels

too big for me still.

I look over at my cousins Sam and Charlie-

since she died, they have grown into men.

One day I will too,

and neither of you will see it,

and probably no one else who stands here with me.

I think about how different my life would’ve been

had I been raised to carry a coffin,

one of six Jewish men.

And perhaps I mourn for the loss of what my own life should’ve been

more than I mourn for yours,

which in its own right

makes me almost as much a selfish prick

as you were.