I look at his body in the casket
A face unfamiliar to me and see
A hint of the man I once knew
I turn away. I cannot go near.

Flowers from his sisters I never knew
A cousin with my name, unknown
A photo album filled with childhood memories
That's all he left behind.

People say he was a good man. I wonder
"What's wrong with them," or "Couldn't they see,"
or just in denial like I used to be.
Or maybe they are trying to be kind.

The lies we tell at funerals.
I cannot play the game.
My need to be honest and true to myself
Stops my cousin from saying
"He really didn't mean it."
When he tried to kill my mother
or threatened to kill me.

Even in the eulogy, I had to be true.
Not time to hang out laundry
But words that still ring true.
He worked with hands and tools
And pushed everyone away.
And despite how he treated them
Many were there at the end.

Now he is in the care of God
and it is to him that he must give
An accounting for his deeds.
I'm glad it isn't me to judge
Perhaps God will be more fair.