Perfect by Holly Day

Let’s practice these worst case scenarios before they happen
practice our emotions and reactions so that they’re perfect
so that people won’t think something’s wrong with the surviving spouse
because there aren’t enough tears, there’s not enough screaming
it’s not like they show it on TV at all.

I will

drop to my knees crying, phone clutched to my chest
screaming “No! No! No!” as flustered onlookers come over
pat me on the back, wonder what’s wrong,
come to their own proper conclusions. You

will stagger a little bit, nod your head, say
“I see. Are you sure?” before hanging up the phone
drop to your own knees, bury your face in your hands. I

will drive to the hospital in a panic, fight noisily with attendants
have to be shown to a doctor who reads me something awful off a chart
offers me a sedative, a cot in the waiting room
a cup of tea, a ride home. You

will stride into the hospital as though you own the place
demand to be taken to my room, show your ID
as though it’s some sort of universal passport,
also be led to a doctor with a chart full of noise
shown to the lounge, offered a newspaper, a cup of tea, a ride home.

I will plan each step of the funeral myself, determined
that “I can do this!” but screw something important up at the last moment
but our children will step in and fix everything like they always do
our daughter will help me pick out a dress, our son
will call the newspaper, dictate an obituary,
make arrangements to contact the rest of the family. You

will probably let everyone else do the planning of my funeral
from the first step to the last, because you know
there are other people who do it better, you’ll pay for everything
but you don’t know where to start. Our daughter will pick out my dress
our son will drive you to the funeral parlor, show you the memorial he’s planned
it’ll be the longest conversation you’ve had with each other in years.

When the time comes, I won’t let them lower the casket into the ground, I’ll throw my body
on the flower-covered box and scream and cry just like they do on TV. Someone’ll
come and lead me back to the rest of the family, slightly embarrassed but happy
because this is what I’m supposed to do, they do this on TV all the time.
You will start to take a step forward, clear your throat, nod as the box is lowered into the ground
our daughter will lean her head into your shoulder, say, “Are you going to be okay?”
while our son will whisper, “It’s just a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes
And we can go.”



Holly Day has been a writing instructor at the Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis since 2000. Her poetry has recently appeared in Asimov’s Science Fiction, Grain, and Harvard Review, and her newest poetry collections are Into the Cracks (Golden Antelope Press), Cross Referencing a Book of Summer (Silver Bow Publishing), The Tooth is the Largest Organ in the Human Body (Anaphora Literary Press), and Book of Beasts (Weasel Press).