Julia Gaskill
The Muppets attend Jim Henson’s funeral
and there is not a vacant seat in the room.
Everyone arrives on time
dressed in the appropriate garb - for once.
Even Lew’s fish are painted mournful black.
The bear gives the opening eulogy.
No one knew he was capable
of such a straight face - not a bad joke in sight, and
the hecklers lay down their heckles,
the dynamite goes unexploded,
the pig does not steal the show.
Muppet after Muppet takes the podium,
each speaking of the gravitas of beards,
the contained insanity
that birthed them oh so beautifully.
The dog does not attend.
This goes unnoticed for years.
The Mayhem play a sober set,
solemn and respect,
only a single cymbal devoured by the drummer.
The room fills with butterflies
as the chief - at long last - takes the stage.
There is a frog in the frog’s throat
as he sees the number of held paws,
fur soaked from tears,
eyes asking, “What now?”
He stands uncertain,
usually so comfortable in the spotlight,
then opens his mouth for the first time in months.
A voice erupts, not the same
but just as sweet, just as familiar,
just as much begging a sense of home,
saying: “We go on.”
and there is not a vacant seat in the room.
Everyone arrives on time
dressed in the appropriate garb - for once.
Even Lew’s fish are painted mournful black.
The bear gives the opening eulogy.
No one knew he was capable
of such a straight face - not a bad joke in sight, and
the hecklers lay down their heckles,
the dynamite goes unexploded,
the pig does not steal the show.
Muppet after Muppet takes the podium,
each speaking of the gravitas of beards,
the contained insanity
that birthed them oh so beautifully.
The dog does not attend.
This goes unnoticed for years.
The Mayhem play a sober set,
solemn and respect,
only a single cymbal devoured by the drummer.
The room fills with butterflies
as the chief - at long last - takes the stage.
There is a frog in the frog’s throat
as he sees the number of held paws,
fur soaked from tears,
eyes asking, “What now?”
He stands uncertain,
usually so comfortable in the spotlight,
then opens his mouth for the first time in months.
A voice erupts, not the same
but just as sweet, just as familiar,
just as much begging a sense of home,
saying: “We go on.”
Julia Gaskill is a professional daydreamer from Portland, Oregon. She was both a staff writer and the multimedia producer for the web series The Misselthwaite Archives. Most recently, Julia competed in the 2016 Women of the World Poetry Slam in Brooklyn, New York. Her work has been featured on FreezeRay Poetry, Thirteen Myna Birds, Front Row Central, and Voicemail Poems, and she was nominated for Best of The Net 2015 for one of her pieces. It goes without saying that she loves Muppets more than you. Find her poetry and info about available chapbooks at http://geekgirlgrownup.tumblr.com