Rebecca Faulkner
The Stillness of Flowers
There can be no flowers
at the burial today,
no deliveries.
The sun will bear down
cruelly, uninvited.
Only room for a minyan,
mourners clutching
the edge of this
necessary distance,
rending the small
space airless,
too tight for breath.
There can be no luncheon
after the burial today.
Not like the one she
would’ve planned for—
vibrant, noisy, catered.
Grandchildren and egg salad,
vases of irises and
the good china, cheer
among the eulogies.
But there can be grief today—
It is not restricted.
Mourning does not need
to be distanced, great
choking sobs quiet
the hum of phone lines
condolences, blessings,
arrive all at once
and slowly—an unfinished
Kaddish, a great wave
cresting, the patter of low tide.
the awareness of both—
the noise and the silence,
the stillness of flowers—
of breath and crescendo.
—Submitted on 06/15/2020
Rebecca Faulkner‘s poems have appeared in Quarantine Zine. A London-born children’s rights advocate and climate activist, she holds an MA in performance studies from NYU, and a PhD in cultural studies from the University of London. Faulkner lives in Brooklyn.
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