To Set the King Bloom
Mother Theresa is dead, her mother Theresa is dead
I arrive late to the wake and borrow my brother in law’s sports jacket
Funeral home, holding her tightly arm in arm
Walking around this weird museum trying to find the body
We go up some stairs but a sign hanging there says: “Staff Only”
Around, around, around, around
There she is
She’s so small
Made of wax
Not scary at all Smiling
The coffin glows
You kiss your thumb
You touch her lips
You let her go
She can’t hurt you now
We walk outside
My uncle says
She looked beautiful
What a job they did
Thе sun is out
Awkward photograph
Of us on the lawn
In cul-de-sac
Give thе sports jacket back
The baby cries
I say my goodbyes