Dad didn't want a coffin.
"Cremate my last remains,"
And so we did.
Cool and dry,
His ashes, urned,
Lie beneath the sod
And prairie sky
Waiting some clarion call,
Some trill of hope,
Bright, re-constitutional,
Faith-affirming.

Mother's wishes rise before us:
No crematory,
No embalmer.
Just her blanket,
Just a hole
Dug beside our Dad.

The law would let her wish be true,
But her children won't.
We're searching coffin plans.
Reverently grim,
Lovingly deferential,
Dutifully rebellious,
Solemn this journey be.

Pine boards to honor her thrift
But smooth and tight,
Rope handles, fitted lid,
Perhaps a little trim,
Perhaps a sheaf of wheat carved
For the old farmer she was.

We'll bury her,
Wrapped in her blanket,
Tucked securely in pine
Beside my father's ashes.

Like a grain of wheat she'll lie
Silent in her final say
Inside our final say
Waiting Resurrection Day.

"mary mary quite contrary
how does your garden grow
with silver bells and cockle shells
and pretty maids all in a row”*

homecoming queen
ballgown made of polythene
they always said in trash bags
you could still look haute couture
leave em wanting more
now, the only thing i’m sure of

is laura, laura, laura in the ground
nothing but her aura and a lily spattered mound
remains, it pains me to concede
that she’ll be eaten up by ghost ****
by the time she turns 18
she’ll still be homecoming queen
below my lungs and all the earth
she will be crowned
laura in the ground

angel dusted lips of blue
and eyes of lapis lazuli
all the water in the river
couldnt fill the chasm
this microcosmic monster ****** bone dry
cause the only thing i’m sure of

is laura, laura, laura in the ground
nothing but her aura and a lily spattered mound
remains, it pains me to concede
that she’ll be eaten up by ghost ****
by the time she turns 18
she’ll still be homecoming queen
below my lungs and all the earth
she will be crowned
laura in the ground

even her jewellery is broken hearted
all cut up like lines of cheap *******
it feels like all the world is utterly uncharted
with you gone i am lost in fog
you’re planted in my brain

oh, laura, laura, laura in the ground
nothing but her aura and a lily spattered mound
remains, it pains me to concede
that she’ll be eaten up by ghost ****
by the time she turns 18
she’ll still be homecoming queen
below my lungs and all the earth
she will be crowned
laura in the ground

oh laura, laura, laura palmer
golden girl, enchanted charmer
you will still be crowned
laura, lovely laura palmer
you’ve got a date with the embalmer
and afterwards there’s coffee in the ground
i promise, doll, i swear
you’ve nothing, no one left to fear
you’re all walled in and safe, my dear
my darling laura, laura in the ground

My grandfather had always felt like a sturdy tower that I could lean against

or a mighty redwood that offered peaceful shade

from the hot sun.

He was a very tall,

very strong man,

and the years of working hard labor

and hopping trains through The Great Depression

seemed to etch a certain unique dignity

into his persona.

Raising five children on a single pay was never an easy task,

especially in his days,

but he managed

and he got by.

I remember hearing about so many odd jobs he used to work,

like furniture restorer, crane operator, embalmer,

and even more surprising dress upholsterer.

He was a man who would stop at nothing to put food on the table,

and he would do these jobs with his southern wit

and friendly demeanor on full throttle.

Inhumane was said  
Six million dead  
Gassed,slaughtered  
Degraded  

Inhumane we dare  
At Jeffrey Dahmer  
Kidnapper, killer
Evil embalmer  

Inhumane it read  
Black man dead  
Dragged by his feet  
Decapitated  

Inhumane we say  
A young man who's gay  
Found bound,beaten  
Left dead in the hay  

Inhumane we cry  
As so many die  
In crumbled buildings  
From terror in the sky  

Inhumane  
I hear say  
But only humans  
Act this way

O soft embalmer of the still midnight,
    Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,
Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light,
    Enshaded in forgetfulness divine:
O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close
    In midst of this thine hymn my willing eyes,
Or wait the "Amen," ere thy poppy throws
    Around my bed its lulling charities.
Then save me, or the passed day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes,--
    Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords
Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;
    Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,
And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.

Rain falling as if it was in slow motion

Hitting my pale skin

I stop, and look at the clouds

Dark and mysterious

Just like his eyes

The eyes that always looked at me

never through

The eyes that watched me

The eyes I loved

and learned to watch

The eyes that were closed for all of eternity now

I longingly stared at the eye lids I would never

watch flutter open in the morning,

or ever again

I finally broke my stare and let my eyes

drift to his lips

Remembering how they felt against mine,

how they felt on my skin

I bent down and kissed his forehead letting

a single tear roll down cheek

I watched as it hit his face

I took my thumb and wiped it away as he had done

so many times for me.

Smudging the make-up that the Embalmer

undoubtedly spent hours on

making him look like he wasn't dead

I stared at his face taking it all in for

one last time

I broke my stare once again,

letting my eyes wonder down his chest

and landing on his hands.

Wishing that I could hold his hand one more time

The way his fingers laced between mine.

When I fell, his strong hands were always there to pick me back up.

His fingers forever locked together at his waist

As I stared into the casket for the last time...

I let it all go

He was gone, no need to pretend that I was O.K

for the first time in my life I had a reason that everyone

understood, to just cry

He found me, fixed me

Made me a  better person

He just had to leave me

I vowed to find him

and I did

that night that he was laid to rest

forever

six feet under

I am not a vessel for pain,
My body is not a graveyard,
To dig through,
To unearth,
To search for your losses,
If you come to me now,
Do not ask me for your past,
I have forgotten it,
Ask me for tomorrow,
Or do not come to me at all.

look
beyond the pale
of my bones
and
rejoice!

no part
of me
shall be squandered

indifferent host
I will play
to microscopic hordes
summoned
to my banquet

in a gravy boat
of flayed yew
i sleep
drunk on embalmer's wine
my unsmiling mouth
gelid, inviting as
an infibulated *****;
expect no kiss
from this sutured mouth
it dictates only
a silent will
left for dermestids

bound
in wood,
a pall of soil,
my initiation rite begins
with a feast for worms
who follow the foetor
of my decaying embrace

dine
on my body
it is yours
in death
the only item
on the menu
since I first
drew breath

A moribund gent, with a  funeral face,

passed me by, in the cort'ege of a friend,

on his way to Boot Hill, the End.


"Billy Brass Handles, is busy again.".

he cried,  " A habit he can't seem to leave behind",

" He'll  need it for the next one",

Keeping you in mind , I opined.


"This cold and damp weather, is the Undertaker's friend,

a real  Bonanza , an ill wind "

" Doctors too "  he said with a smile,

" Their  mistakes are buried,

with the Patient's file".


The Moribund gent, has a valid point,

I know he is only an embalmer,

One of a kind,  But,

He knows who to preserve,

and who, to leave behind.


    By  Holly  Barrett


Michael Barrett