Speaking at a Funeral
Brianna Le / V Mag at UVA
Thank you for letting me speak today
for the love that has given me freedom &
the one who went the distance for me, always
it’s nice to know who you needn’t talk to
or prove yourself to
no matter how ugly nose picking mascara running frizzy
nice to know who would still love you
sat together purring in silence
she would drape herself over me when it rains,
the warmest place i’ve ever known,
i’ve buried my face in her soft to soak up my tears
too many times to count
her sturdy care always held me together
even though in the end, i couldn’t do the same for her
i’m sorry, little one
i’m being vague on purpose
So we might relate—your dead pet is just like mine.
But you’re tightlipped nodding your condolences and curiously peek into the casket
it’s empty
no body in sight
It’s not like that—she’s not
dead
i’m just giving her up
i’m giving her up
for a payout
for five thousand dollars
not my cat
my car
but who’s to say i won’t do this to her,
when she’s ruined
someday?
A little girl sat in the middle of a double lane slick road one decade ago & prayed the giant machines would lose control
for years after, what made her leave that night kept her
barred in the house
sometimes, though, she could slip through the door after matching the squeaks of the steps with the croaks of the night and breathe free when
she laid her body on a stranger’s car to see Orion or maybe The Three Sisters but mainly the city stained milky grey ink sky
she wondered what it would be like to feel this
& safe
back then, I would have killed for my little engine that could
an auction house and a loan brought me a childhood dream
tiny and grey and blue book reliable, comfortable, & safe
her axles ached with 160,000 miles under her belt
sometimes she coughed black at stop lights
but the Virginia sticker said she passed
and she could sing even louder than me
I knew she was mine.
in one year we’ve done 25,000 just us from first dates to job offers
to realizations and resolutions
to reunions to
beach weeks to
outrunning a blizzard and a fire alarm
from the South to the East Coast’s big city—three times
to Costco to dogsit to drunk friends emergency rides
to a slam,
crash.
I will always love her, even after our goodbye
even after she is torn to shreds
and repurposed to scraps
but tonight, I’ll watch the stars from the inside of my car
her cloth will soak up my tears for the last time
I am safe & I will cry