funeral drive

we get lost on the way to the funeral. 
the roads turn into ice cream. a porch light
without any hair. i keep telling people
"it's okay she was really old" which is true
but not true enough. it misses her house,
broken apart still reaching. the cabinets
full of coffee bought decades ago. her sisters
like leaves in a rain river down the driveway. 
we had debated who would drive but decided
that it needed to be me. the air is full of dragons.
i am not sure which one of us is the worse driver.
it is probably me. i am prone to kissing potholes
& daydreaming into billboards. 
i have been experiencing more & more
last times. i collect them. once my boyfriend
gave me a shadow box for our not-love
to live in. i broke the window like a fire alarm.
let all the birds out to devour what they needed to.
all families have smaller families within them. 
my sibling & i are one. my brother & my father,
another. old enough 
to remember but not enough to keep.
we talk about where we are going to go after.
a cup of coffee & a heavy sun. 
when we emerge we are less lost than we realized.
the stoplights braid our hair. the others cars,
rude & not looking at our licorice grief. 
the parking lot is full when we arrive. how did we arrive?
i thought i was driving but i am not. the car, 
like beef jerky in my hands. 
sometimes it feels like we are always the last
to arrive. this is mostly on purpose. the queer kids
are the ghosts. i see our aunt, her hair like
a cloud before a heavy rain.