I think the dead always get
The last laugh I worried so much Over so many things When it was always Going to work Itself out In the end End
Skin, soft and fragile as marigold petals
Bones thin as papier-mâché Holding the shape of a person I love Holding together our bodies of clay Candles, dimming light behind the eyes Weary wind slipping through parched lips Sweet and weak the voice of a person I love Spirit readying voyage on vanishing ships
All people are like grass, And all their glory is like the flowers of the field; the grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of the Lord endures forever.
She danced on graves
In dark reverence Throwing a party for the dead. Reveling in the beauty, Of each delicate sculpture, Her fingers traced the edges... Memories long gone, but in the souls Of those who loved them. Twisted smile, Longing for the day, When she too, Rests eternally.
Tradition says he’ll come today
With the wind, In a ray of sunshine On the arrival of a friendly bird Was that creak his footfall in the hallway? Was that warm breeze his breath upon my neck? Is that his familiar scent or just my deep desire to have him here with me? We’ll set out candles Prepare his favorite foods Bathe our home with love and light Because today the children, My child, Returns from the grave
For Jack. Who left us far too soon.
— The End —