Évocation #10 The art of Painting smiles

Lift cheeks, soften lips,
Yoga nidras have prepared the way...
Find a memory of helping,
Present the visage.

It is not a lie, nor a mask.
The true desire to be friendly and kind remains.
It’s just that the numbness my friend speaks of
cannot be disturbed, save by sobs or screams.
Better not to scare people.

Much is written about grief,
observed patterns, expectations,
kindnesses required for respite,
guidelines for first responders,
volumes of platitudes.
I know, I confess my misuse.

I look into the vanity drawer
and a smirk hovers near my nose and mouth.
I spy the waterproof mascara.
How thoroughly exquisite
to realise my excellent commonsense,
having requested the acquisition before the death.
We prepared well.

I found you nightshirts, soft, comforting and blue.
You wrote me a twenty four chapter love letter.
You told me over and over how much you loved me.
I ordered waterproof mascara.

Overwhelming love comes at an overwhelming cost.
Generations of research and development cannot improve
on soggy teabags and cucumber slices to ease swollen eyes.
It may take decades to develop the unsmudgable product.
Will I still be weeping then?

My friend and I share stumbling messages of distant households,
Peppered with day-to-day vignettes
of the pair who, even now, party elsewhere.
Fickle? No. Just always a little ahead of us...
With their humour and delight...
And general naughtiness.
I hold my chest, wondering if the pieces will fall out?
I sigh at the task of life
and fish around for a Pink
to paint today’s smile.

(C) a.Koh-Butler, 2019