Popcorn

Blissfully asleep

The cold air never seeped in to get me

I was protected by a sleeping bag worn old, purple and pink

But it was ruined

Suddenly that old sleeping bag stopped protecting me

The cold had gotten to me

Infecting my heart, making it cold and gray

Then I was sitting in a church

I wiped my runny nose on the velvet of my dress

The priest waved an odd smelling smoke around a casket

My mother had a bag of uncooked popcorn

I asked her with tears running down my fat, rosy cheeks

“Why are you putting the popcorn in the casket?”

She told me it was to feed him in the afterlife

After all,

My grandfather’s favorite snack was popcorn 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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