The Hat Incident

The eulogy stretched, a drone,

a hum that made my bones

ache. Aunt Carol's hat, so grand,

began its slow, silent stand.

One brim dipped, a dark descent,

until an eye was neatly lent

to shadow. A secret stage.

I fought the laugh, a rising rage

of something unholy, raw.

The solemn weight, the solemn law

of grief. But then that feather shook.

I hid my face, a desperate hook.

It wasn't funny, not quite, no.

But the hat's slow, tragic show

unlocked a tremor in my chest.

I bit my lip, put it to rest.

But the tremor stayed.