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| funeral |
Death was brutal.
The child gasped for air
but there was none.
Mamma closed
her eyes
bathed her in
lavender
and dressed her
in a shroud.
frankincense and
jasmine
the scent of
burning censers
laments and
flaxen light.
Yet grief is
all deceiving.
She is only
sleeping they cry.
But the child
is dead.
She will never
hear her mamma's cries;
she will never
see the tears in her papa's eyes.
Her light goes
out
chants and
burning incense
closed doors
and blinds rolled down
a final look;
a gift of soil;
a slice of
bread;
a glass of oil;
and through the
open earth
she vanishes into the arms of death.
she vanishes into the arms of death.
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