Her lips were moving,
But I didn't hear her,
For I pretended she was dead
And sat and thought as she talked
That in a hundred years
We all would be:
She, who spoke so callously,
My kids, whom she ignored,
Those she spoke of reverently,
Those that she adored.
And me, she had no use for me,
And I had heard it all before
So many times, and always with
A grain of salt and a tub of fury.
But tonight my heart cried out
And pleaded for me not to let the anger come and burn.

And so I had two funerals in my head,
One for me and one for her,
And, without having to inter anyone,
I was able to look beyond,
And feel the peace that passes understanding.
None of it really mattered.
The words of a good old blue grass song,
A glass of tea, and we went on,
For in a hundred years, we'll all be gone.

-jenn