Order of Service

The paper was too thin for the weight of the ink.

I held it until my thumb came away black,

a smudge across the grain of the photo.

I sat in the third row trying not to think

about how the heater kept a steady hum in the back,

drowning out the parts of the prayer I didn't know.

I left the program on the passenger seat.

The edges are curling now in the sun,

a face staring up at the roof of the car.

It’s a heavy thing to leave out in the heat,

knowing the grieving is never quite done,

just tucked away in a drawer like a scar.