Dream # 26 with Consequences

by Susan Konz

My mother’s a wart, a wiped out baby swaddled
by zombied dads and petrified second cousin Peter’s
mauled right hand, asking for sweet port in aperitif
crystal but no one’s coming – when the funeral starts,
 
there in the box rolling over and threatening to tip off
the boards with my mother, a baby gauzed in purple in my
arms. She isn’t dead is                
refusing death like a tray of jerk shrimp at a
wedding reception so
 
Dad does what he has to do like he would
and goes to find something blunt
and hefty to clobber her
with because otherwise
she’ll fuck up the funeral 
he says, and he’s right,
what will the guests do? 
 
They’re hungry and mostly 
still alive so they’ve got that over us &
demand the respect the living demand
from the dead.
                
So dad’s trying and bless him, Peter with his gnashed
up car-body, brother Mike, brother Paul come grunged &
high and they’re all trying to get her still 
in the mange of the party all
while keeping a polite arms length presence – 
 
a lot of wisped names in open window breezes and 
cabinet doors that swing open and stay
that way all night and wait
for the living to come get oatmeal
from the microwaveable packets above
the counter and see them open and know we’re here –
 
out of respect this is done. This customary thing &
the guests are so grateful they hardly notice
the duck and pivot of my thirsty mother
                
right out from my arms and headed
god knows where.