Pascin's Funeral Day: June 7, 1930

at 36 boulevard de Clichy, 
the walls of his studio were sticky red
with an explosion of ultimate sadness 
when he drew a final kiss for his mistress, 
and drew a final breath
for himself.
on the day of his funeral, she dressed in black.

his wife in black.
waiters and bartenders in black.

saloons in black.

black was the cloud and black was Paris.

those streets, preoccupied with their special mourning, 
allowed only the walkers to follow behind his coffin
to a simple grave site.

their shoes were black. 

their grief was black.

but there, the turned Earth was a fertile brown.  

the near grass brilliant green.

the sky a Matisse blue.  

colorful birds sang and flew 

into the air, a sweetly poetic painted still life. 

windows were flung open.
fragrant wine was poured into buckets of remembrance,
where thoughts like flights of gaiety lifted and blew away as tiny bubbles.
later, his family moved his body to Cimetiere de Montparnasse,
where today he still turns inside that hole.