Evelyn,
you flew out with the day's wind
and the sparrows
were the only family
to see your mouth dry
in the buoyant moon

The flies
with their translucent wings
flew about your
open lips
catching particles of light
in their flaky, blue, gold, red, violet veins
upon their lovely wings
which graced their delicate black clothed bodies

They
were dressed for this
once-in-a-lifetime occasion
but not I,
in my red itchy face
and cotton gown

I took you by the hands
(my feet numb and covered in inky grass)
telling you things
only mother would care to hear
the unfiltered hiccups
and childish
wake-ups, and a simple
"close your mouth"

My father and uncle
took your sock-covered feet
and we lifted you,
took you to the light
which filled your mouth
we placed you in a stiff wooden chair

Your mouth closed then
and your eyes remained open
your crinkly hands dropped
settling into your lap
and for a moment
you were alive