“Yellow Roses For My Grandmother’s Funeral” by Gwendolyn Dressler

I sit next to your son,

Who sits next to your daughter,

Who cries at the priests’ words.

Fast talking Spanish and occasional

mumblings of “amen” are barely registered.

All I can understand is my mother’s sobs and wheezes.

Cars whizz by and

drown out the priest and my mother.

The Floridian sun shines brilliant and hot.

My mother clutches her brother’s knee.

A tear trickles down his cheek

underneath his sunglasses.

He stares forward, deep in thought and grief.

I notice 

my cousin doesn’t know Spanish either.

They gave each of us a yellow rose.

Soft and thornless.

We lay each one down on your casket.

I forcibly grab its stem

between my thumb and forefinger

before I give it back to you.

Gwendolyn Dressler is a freelance writer who enjoys her home in Florida. She has a profound appreciation for writings that explore emotional connections, whether superficially or otherwise. The world serves as her arsenal for narrative symbolism and literary inspiration of any kind. She loves her family, her friends and always strives to improve her work in any way she can to make it appealing to an audience and to herself.