Smiling at Funerals

Make what you will of this.....


Smiling At Funerals

Sometimes it’s hard,
among the flowers and the hymnbooks,
and the mourners all assembled,
not to smile.

Perverse thing, that.

I emerge from the vestry,
face fixed, as needs be, in that neutral mien,
conveying what, one hopes,
is an appropriate amount of gravity.
But the weight of those watching eyes;
the silent, controlled tension of those moments,
forces me into an unnatural self-consciousness.

Can I trust my face?
Do I look sad, or just vacant?
Peaceful, or indifferent?
God forbid;
How can I be sure I’m not grinning like a loon?!

So every now and then,
I twitch the muscles in the corner of my mouth
To make sure my lips are set solemnly straight.
And in so doing,
momentarily,
superficially,
I smile.

I hope no-one sees.
They might think I’ve grown calloused
and insensitive to grief,
when the truth is,
standing beside the dead and deadened,
sorrow, gratitude, love, despair and hope
mingle into one emotional continuum,
like streams surrendering to the river’s course.

And rooted on this bank,
from which I see, however faintly,
the estuary spreading out towards the boundless, open sea,
I think I can allow myself a smile.