At The Funeral.

I did not
know his name.
I had been invited,
just a guest
at the funeral.
The family,
losing a child at such
a young age…
Some were angry
Some beside themselves
drowning in grief.
Photos hung on a pin-up board
thinly lined…
a life that had just begun
it hung there to declare
injustice,
the cavern of sorrow
and the hollowed out eyes
of a mother and father:
destroyed,
ruined,
wrecked.

I sat on the back row,
creaking pews
uncomfortable…
longing to bring
some measure
of comfort,
knowing there was
only hurt
in this space.

Tears.
heaviness
thick and dreadful
and yet
I was here
bearing witness
hurting
commiserating
in the mourning.