Divine Mother

    Chairs, like fanning headstones before me,
    silently fill with people
    while tawny flames adjust to convey
    your picture’s best smile.
    A favorite chant fills the air:
    ”On the blue lotus feet of my Divine Mother.”
    Disbelief clings to every sad note
    that's filtering down the rear wall,
    collectively landing in my lap.
    As your children and grandchildren weep,
    I fervently hope to become invisible
    somehow, death will not notice me
    sitting in the back row.