“After Shawna Lemay’s ‘In Lieu of Flowers’” by Sher Ranabalasuriar

In lieu of flowers,
make ink out of the things you love to see
earth dirt coffee mug ring stains,
turmeric yellowed fingernails,
shimmering light gold-tipped waves on oceans and lakes,
write these loves on your most gorgeous papers,
spill rivulets of colors onto pages,
let your grief fill the pages,
let your mouth open, fill the mics,
fill the hall with your keening,
move us through this grief together.

In lieu of flowers,
I want moribund ghostly photobooths stationed around
all the corners of the celebration of life.
I want photos of you all crying-laughing
playing on repeat on slide deck screens.
I want you to see how gorgeous you are when you feel,
show me your best I-AM-HERE evidence, babes,
bust out your best moves,
strike poses, make me jealous as you vogue
and mug and strut your fabulousness.

In lieu of flowers,
I want you dressed to the nines,
masquerade labyrinth finery,
fantasy only loves, make this
Halloween times ten,
come dressed as your dream self to see me off
bon voyage me dressed
in your manifesting best.
or show up as you are,
shuffle forth in footed comfy onesies
and weighted blankets,
bring your comfort snacks,
your slanket shroud, slink
into the bean bag chairs and hammocks
i’ll have the memorial organizers set out,
i’d love the Nap Bishop herself
to read you all your last rites,
because I want you to bury
your normalized productivity expectations,

“My dearly beloved, we are gathered here to see Sher off to her eternal rest,
and to lay down your own woulda coulda shoulda
gnat cloud of expectations. Shoo that shit away today.
As the Grizzly Carebear shuffles off to her final sleeping barrow.”

She’s entering the dream river streams,
and as she paddles.
She’s letting the archetypal memories,
every taste of gelato,
every summer sunbaked sunkiststicky
sweet popsicled kiss,
make a cushioned flotilla
to help her float gently down the stream
of consciousness.
Your memories and stories and poems
weave together the sails of her vessels.
When you speak the poems in your own hearts,
and mingle them with hers,
our words ossify in the spirit realm,
grow into strong beams, into tall masts
where she’ll be reborn in the next multiverse.
You’d better get your life rafts together,
build your own ossuary from the bony words,
the spurs of poets that pierce hearts.
Take loads of naps in the sun with your familiars.

In lieu of flowers, please give my tiny house panthers,
Cleo and Theo
their own rotisserie chicken
one last carrion offering
to remember me by.

Reflections

This poem explores communities and sanctuaries in times of deep loss and grief. What are the communities that provide your updrafts to soar or rest when the world feels heavy, or the wind swings us off course?

See these communities as your sanctuaries, communities that need tending to sustain the care you all need. (Yes, including you.) Write down what beacons you will light and need lit in times when deep loss, heaviness, or grief are ever-present.

About the Poet