We decided to attend
the funeral by computer
since my husband
had shared membership
with his dead brother-in-law
in the Underlying Conditions Club
mentioned daily by newscasters
in somber tones as crews
filmed them poised in front of
America’s emergency rooms.

We could visualize
hope in a syringe taking shape
in the near distance
that had not been close enough
for Jeff to see.

Our daughter came
to our house for the service,
seated on the back porch
wrapped in blankets,
a heater plugged in
and whirring in the corner.

We sat behind the sliding glass door
watching with her on separate laptops.

We could see my husband’s sister,
the masked new widow,
when she moved within
the reach of the camera.

After the last recorded song
(no singing allowed),
our daughter stood
close to the door

to say goodbye—
her breath lingering
on the cold glass
as she walked away.