for us to meet and greet and thank
or try to avoid, or to forget,
or try to join, in some vague sense of shame…
At what level of experience
may we try to meet you, back from hell
with decorations visible, wounds invisible?
What use are words – they just make us feel smaller and inadequate?
Just perhaps, to be there for you,
silent.
But there.
You’re still around…but is life worse than death for you?
We don’t like to ask; and we certainly cannot answer.
But you’re still around, even just to remind us…
We the embarrassed. You’re still around.
And God – God is not mocked.