Proof of love is in the long lines

that reach around your photographic memories

to the end of your casket where your family stands

An island of misfit toys saying goodbye to a dear friend

I’m starting to feel the effects of the parking lot

flask that my uncle keeps in his coat pocket

I knew my brain cells were dying for no earthly purpose

and I think the paintings of Jesus Christ know

that I’m buzzed lying in this church pew

Maybe all those Irish jokes are true after all

 

Proof of love is breaking fire codes

in a house that raised six children

“Bring more chairs up from the basement”

A house of books and tools feels empty

without its patriarch to join hands with

And thank God for a family that even through all their flaws

are together at the table

To discuss their racist coworker

or the new band your cousin found

It took four months to clean

50 years of memories out of this house

But, memory is beyond material

goods

It is held in the heart of your loved ones

That miss you