It's Still Life

5 of 27: Gravebright – a Colour once felt, but not seen

5 of 27 Gravebright – The Poem – A smile worn only at funerals

Gravebright is a light
that knows its place—
how to behave.

It flickers politely and rests
on the lips like powdered glass.

It is not joy.
It is the performance of peace—
an ache dressed in elegance.

Gravebright is born when someone asks,
“How are you holding up?”
and you answer, “Fine,”

even as your ribcage
folds in lon itself ike a burning map.

It lives in polished shoes
and creased handkerchiefs.
In casseroles delivered in silence.

It lives in the soft,
awful laugh you give
when someone says
they’re in a better place.

Gravebright is not the mourning.
It is the mask
you wear over mourning,
because

grief is never supposed
to inconvenience anyone.

It tastes like sugar on the tongue
and cold steel underneath.

It smells like lilies,
formaldehyde.
The perfume you wear
for your mother’s burial.

Gravebright has grace,
but it’s not kind.
It holds you together—
just long enough to get through—
and then disappears
when the dishes need doing.

That’s when
your hands shake over the sink.

It is worn most often by women.
By sons who don’t cry.
By best friends who organise
the flowers
because someone has to.

Felreil sees it often.
He sees it before the tears.
Because that’s when it shines brightest.

And sometimes,
the ones who wear Gravebright
never cry at all.

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Written as a mind-map or stream-of-consciousness for Denise’s Six Sentence Story.  Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.