The Furies

Fury builds inside my limbs and behind the ribs and I can’t help and can’t stop from shaking and rocking and turning around in the chair and I’m going to explode can hardly pry the pill bottles open or manage to place the pills on my tongue without biting my fingers or choking on the water.

A child has died. A child was taken off
the respirator and was gone.
A woman is telling this to a friend on the phone.
I’m not supposed to say anything.
But the father keeps leaving the room to throw up
and they dress the child in a little outfit and blanket and everyone
has a chance to hold it.
The memorial will be at a bar on the river.
The woman talks with disgust.
Disgust this woman thinks these things should be
held in a church or funeral home not a bar she hates to go
but will because she has to this goddamn woman
this crass asshole doesn’t want to go
to a bar a fucking bar this half-human
this gross laughing lady of lies
hates to go because its at a fucking “hillbilly” bar to remember a child
a child has died.
And the father keeps leaving the rom to throw up.


2 thoughts on “The Furies

  1. Because you are able to express it clearly, I believe I know how you feel about this woman. One of the best memorials I experienced was in a hillbilly bar.


    1. I was at the end of my rope that day. And I just can’t fathom feeling anything but terrible sadness when someone dies. During and shortly after a death, how could the mind be filled with anything else?


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