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Buried on Ash Wednesday, the reading was from Revelations
"Come", said the preacher, the message was an invitation
But to the funeral goers, the reference to Lent was no consolation
When in the throes of grief, there's only frustration
We sang Abide With Me, but there was no returning
For the loss was so keenly felt, it was all consuming

The tributes were read, brief and poignant
She'd trained us well, we were considerate
No one lost composure, the mask didn't slip
This was in Bristol, after all, stiff upper lip
Thousands of miles from home, with a virtual audience to boot
All of us dressed tidily in the most sober of black suits

Something was missing, however, it was the sounds of cries
If we were back in Ghana, clearly not a single eye would be dry
Imagine! The queen of Makola market,
   a woman so redoubtable
We were duty bound to celebrate her life
   by causing good trouble
To make a scene, bassa bassa,
   to weep uncontrollably on the side
For when your heart is so rendered,
   there is no keeping the soul quiet

Solemnity Premiums, a playlist

A stiff upper lip soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Please Don't Make Me Cry by UB40
• Keep it Inside by Cherrelle
• One Last Cry by Brian McKnight
• All Cried Out by Alison Moyet
• Warriors Don't Cry by Beres Hammond

See previously: Another Zoom Funeral

After Auntie Naa Abia Mary Mould

This note is part of a series: In a covidious time

File under: grief, funeral, culture, observation, perception, displacement, mourning, family, loss, Ghana, Africa, poetry, covidious, toli

Writing log: March 10, 2022