At my Funeral

A poignant poem about a strong and kind man, who masked tears, by Dr. Shailja, exclusively for Different Truths.

A man, he was, I think.
A pair of solid arms,
Swinging like bands of a rainbow to
Embrace me divinely.
Somewhat visible within
Inches of my consciousness,
Breathing by my breaths.
His breaths ran past the second, I hit my thresholds.
A man, he was, I think.
Treating my corpse with
Gentlemanly grace at my funeral.
Who else would put a woman’s needs first?
Whether or not I was alive,
His priority did not change.
Yet working hard to mask his tears,
(To match social expectations)
At the loss of his loved one.
The one carrying this ordeal of a task:
A man, he was, I think.
My man, he was, I know. 

Picture design by Anumita Roy, Different Truths