I learned something new
at your funeral:
you were a slut
and you liked to fish in Canada.
All you used were your fingers and eyes but the air
rang with silent laughter and the twang of so many cast lines.
I learned that your daughter needed me more than I thought.
My chest felt like cement.
Then lead when my own met hers.
And that her sister had a good boyfriend.
His arm was planted around her waist so she wouldn’t float away during delivery
of the eulogy.
I learned that life is funny
when I found a cicada outside the parlor. I hoped
it was just the husk—the exoskeleton—
But I picked it up and one of the wings tore off.
I learned that you were scattered in Ottawa.
I picked up the cicada from the concrete and I figured
the bush’s roots would suffice a tombstone.
Marley DeRosia is a senior English (creative writing) major at SUNY Geneseo. A Rochester native, she loves garbage plates and talking about how everyone should love garbage plates. She recently studied abroad, and was inspired by Irish landscape and the poetry of Yeats.