My hair reeks of frankincense and sin

My hair reeks of frankincense and sin

Today we we laid you to rest
Well
Raised you to rest
Because you always were scared of worms
So to subject you to be their roommate for eternity
Would just be plain rude

A filing cabinet of bodies
Where you are now 
– forever – 
Chronicled

I sobbed as they sang Ave Maria
Staring at the gold casket
(Or was it white?)
Wondering how your body was positioned inside
Did they place your hands in prayer?
You always said God listened to you the loudest.
“If you want it to happen, let me know and I’ll ask.”

My aunt told me that she picked out your softest pajamas
For you to wear
Forever
And I cried even harder
Because you always were the greatest proponent for personal hygiene
And the thought of you wearing the same pair of white linens for
Centuries
Made my skin crawl because I knew it would
Make you feel dirty

Who would be waiting for you at the gates of Heaven?
We’re all left down here, and if you’re alone 
Up there
I don’t think that I’d ever be able to cope.
You were so much
That the mere notion that you could ever be lonely
Made me sick to my stomach
Because you made friends everywhere that you appeared.

But I know the angels will sing when you float to them
Or however it works
Because they’ll say
“We’ve been waiting on this one.”

You loved going to church on Sundays because
You were so proud of the family that accompanied you.
Despite our different shades and creeds you
Knew that each of us was an enactment of 
Your Love
So our presence, no matter how divergent
From the advertisements for the Pennsylvania suburbs,
Shook you with honor.

My mom made the choice to forgo your embalming
(“I can’t bear the thought of them pumping her full of chemicals”)
So I chose not to tell her when I saw online that 
The juices from 
Un-preserved bodies 
Can leak from their caskets
Inside the filing cabinet
On hot and rainy days

I looked in the mirror after the service
Greeted by two wet dots on my cloth mask
Under each nostril

My body was leaking too

I wrote your name on my arm that day
In purple ink pen
And I still don’t know exactly why.
I never was one for tattoos
But the self-inflicted semi-permanence
Seemed necessary
Given the circumstances

The car ride home was silent
Except

“The food was better than I expected.”
“I wish they had cream cheese for the bagels, though.”

I waited for the grief to hit like a tidal wave
But all I received was a constant trickle
And I still feel guilty for that

You meant
You mean
So much to me
So why didn’t I feel incapacitated by your loss?

My ability to live without you
To laugh without you
To cope
Served as its own form of grief
Over my inability to perform
The “correct way” of mourning

With each day that passed I expected the weight of your loss
To cement me to my bed
But I actually felt lighter
By the idea
That you were with laughing with God
Over the Thanksgivings that we spent debating
Whether or not we were allowed to pray to the saints

Your body was a vessel for your spirit
And your spirit was an aura of Italian hospitality
And I can still smell it in your lasagna and feel it
In the church songs

Your vibrato still echos

(Who am I if not your kin?

What do I feel if not you?)

For Mary Elda Castelli, 2/17/2021