The Invisible Path

The littlest one scrambles through the forest
of dark suits and somber gowns
weaving and bobbing along an invisible path
among an undergrowth of grief and frowns.
A hiss to his right grabs him by the arm
and yanks him away and into a room
with a long buffet and more flowers than
an entire garden; here he can zoom
uninterrupted by the cheek-pinching aunts
or the austere specter of his grandmother
sitting there atop her casket, watching
the family perform their pain for one another.

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