The Third Ceremony

Megan Falley


I am the only one at your funeral.  

I fill the vase with the right flowers and press my face 
into them, but only smell your cigarettes.  

I recite the obituary that I’ve been saving for this occasion  

ever since the summer you started putting fireflies  
on your tongue and winning contests for the cruelest hands.
I admit, it’s a flawless performance, gifted to an empty room,  

but I can’t help but hate you for not cracking 
an embalmed smirk during the funny parts.  

I carry your casket alone  

which is also an exercise 
I’ve been training for.  

The hearse is the only one waiting for me to finish.  

There will be no procession, 
no cars following behind.  

You’ve left no shadow.  

Pawned all the people who could have been here 
for highs even you knew weren’t worth it.  

I am glad—the worst is over.  

I received the phone call 
I always feared, confirmed your body.  

I open a black umbrella, blame you for the rain.