the girl in black

i now own proper funeral attire. i will wear black. this, if you know me, is quite unusual. i do not wear black, i don’t look good in black, but it only seems fitting (and because i don’t mourn long, i bought this racy little red thing that i can’t wait to have a reason to wear).

i’m also obsessed with finding a poem.

last night i asked the TTHM for a poem and he immediately launched into:

“he was my north, my south, my east and west. . .”

and i finished

“my working week and my sunday rest.”

W.H. Auden’s “Funeral Blues” was where i turned to first too. sadly it’s for lovers and not for grammus. the fact that he recited the poem from memory did things to my heart that i don’t want it to do anymore, but that’s something else for another time.

so i went searching for the right words. i stumbled upon Rilke’s “Blank Joy”, but wasn’t sure. then i turned to my old reliable, cummings and his “i carry your heart with me(i carry it in…”.

but then i decided it should be a woman. something written by a woman to express how these women (the sister club and i) feel about the woman who was responsible for our lives.

so naturally i turned to edna and “Well, I Have Lost You” or “Dirge Without Music”, and none of them feel right.

i am not a poet, as my own poetry can attest. but now i will try and see if i can’t find some words to hold this emotion.

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