Glory of God, Judgment of Man

“For a man indeed ought not to have his head covered, because he is the image and glory of God, but the woman is the glory of man.” -Corinthians 11:7

You wore a suit of crisp white and obsidian 

All harsh lines against your sagging formaldehyde-face

Without the cold laughter and burning anger 

Only chemicals held you together 

A serene face like the day you married her

We walked down polished wooden stairs 

This polished wooden casket 

Orange petals slipping off my fingers to the ground

Petals to lay on your chest

An old burn on my ear from perfect curls

When the pictures mattered more

And a innocent blush-pink dress over itchy tights

Today’s pair has a rip under the knee

Wilting lilies lit your path

My mother’s favorite flower 

Her tears interrupted by a silk handkerchief 

These sights meant that the goodbye’s 

I’d forgotten to give need to happen now

There’s a fly buzzing past my ear

I swat at it but it leads me to you

I set a letter on your heart 

The writing’s fake but good daughters cherish their fathers 

And you never let me call you by your name 

What a terrible thought 

A child seeing you for what you truly were 

Our cousins and aunts and grandparents want to look

At the man 

Holy man, pious family

Heads bowed in mourning 

Like a pyre, the words

Of love I wrote

Burn right into your heart

Your profit the glory of men

I’m glad I could bear witness to you

When you lived long enough

For even the priests

Could find disgust in you and the flies

Forever buzzing

Over your depreciating bones