The Carnations

I saw the carnations at the store—

the same red as the casket blooms.

And suddenly I was back before,

in the church light, in those rooms

where Father Dennis said her name

wrong for the second time that day.

The vowels cracked. I felt the shame

begin to build inside, betray

my body's need to laugh, not cry.

I pressed my teeth so hard they ached.

The sound rose up. I couldn't deny

the way my throat was cracked,

the way something inside me broke

and wanted out, and I held still,

and my hand went up to choke

it back down with all my will.

The woman next to me knew.

She saw the thing I couldn't say—

the laugh that came out wrong, askew,

the thing my body gave away.