Thursday

Funeral

 She wore a red dress to your funeral,

standing straight 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 such bold grieving.

Finally it was over and she left,
weaving through the tombstones,
spilling blood among the polished marble.

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