The funeral – sorry, memorial service –
for one of my sister Goddesses
is happening now and I’m not there.
Truthfully, catching a virus was convenient.
I’m about funeralled out. Not that I didn’t
care for her. Not that I’m not sad. Just that
suddenly this one feels too much. Too many.
And my circle dancing days, my old body
tells me, are done. I’ve lent my velvet cloak
and my sacred silk scarf to another Goddess
who had moved away, but happens to be back
here at just this time. I know that she
was closer than I was to our dead friend, so
that seems right. I always think of her wearing
her own cloak – bright pink – joyously.
Perhaps, today, it’s better she wears
my magenta one in grief. The Universe is good
at synchronising these tiny, fateful details.
For the rest, guests were requested
to wear either appropriate black, or else
the vivid colours – deep blues and greens,
bright purples – which the late artist loved.
I don my customary black pants, and add
a vivid blue top. No, I’m not attending
this funeral today, yet all my thoughts are there.