Extreme Unction: “Last Rites”
People will suddenly love me when I’m dead.
They will stand in black in a rainstorm
before my grave
and weep tears from eyes
that never used to look twice.
They’ll eulogize the kid they never knew
with phrases like “nicest guy in the world,”
“always had a smile on his face,”
and other non-specific compliments.
What is it about endings
that make people so fond?
Is the heart made so by the
sudden distance and inaccessibility?
Do we perfume the dead
with words too sweet
verbal ambergris
out of sentimentality
or truth?
Or is it that death itself
its sans fragrance
speaks the lie in life
leaving us at
a loss for words?
What’s that first rule of politeness?
“If you can’t say anything at all,
say something nice.”
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