She wore a red dress to your funeral,
standing straight-backed and straight-faced
alongside of your black clad family.
She didn't seem to notice the sharp stares,
or feel the stinging sneers,
and when the Priest glared at her she glared back.
It seemed a long time that we all stood there,
sneaking glimpses of red,
stunned into silence by the audacity of grief.
Finally it was over and she left,
weaving through the tombstones,
spilling blood across the polished marble.
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