all the mothers

at the funeral of the boy’s mother

are looking at the boy.

the boy is very young

and does not quite know yet

why he has to be there.

 

all the fathers at the funeral

are looking at the father of

the boy whose eyes roll around

the pews, windows, and frescos

where the sun rays' glow in gold

and cast a thin shadow

over the casket that has his mother, asleep.

 

the boy has been eyeing his father

as he paces around the church.

the boy wants to ask him about the happenings 

but he knows his father is available for very few discussions

such as when mother makes muffins

or the son ranks first at school.

 

the boy now sees the eyes, a church full of eyes,

seeing him, and keeping seeing him,

until he looks away and bundles of lips whisper

and continue to study him,

because there is nothing else to do.

No one is talking at the lectern,

except for the mute organ hanging from behind,

ominous and in charge of the eternal silence.

it excites the boy's mind that it might

drop and break into infinite melodies

that will wake his mother from her dreams.

 

the boy’s heart is circulating like the golden clock

with arteries partitioned into specks

of light and wonders,

an afternoon of soccer,

a morning of funeral,

and yet nothing is moving.

the clock’s is broken

but the boy awaits without knowing,

unlike the eyes that watch him.

 

the clock in the clock goes round and round

spinning a coat of nothingness

for the boy and the man

his mother promised he will become.

 

2025

Bowling Green, Kentucky, USA

 

Cover art by Micheal Shtern on Unsplash