|
About Poetry Other Exits Back to Artemisu! ______________________________________________ That day I stood, watching clouds outside of sky. They all came in with stories. Older kids reckless, little girls with cancer. Some beyond repair, while others went peacefully. In such a small town, we all waited for the news of what had happened. And still I watched. Though the sights didn’t bother me, red had a way of creeping in. They wondered about me, my blank countenance, though I cry at funerals same as you. Morbid, you say, but it brings me closer to those I live with. Hands dipped inside. I paint her face, fix her hair, and I wonder. What were her secrets? What did she hide from others, what did she fear? Did her passions bring her joy? Her story, she told to me as I washed her skin. Daughters visiting, blonde hair plaited behind shoulders. Coffins examined in the show room. Yes, I own this place, I said. In the streets, I am recognized; people are unsure. This I see in their eyes. But I am no different from you; my connection to this town is perhaps the strongest. Each of you may someday pass through my hands. I befriend them all, caress the small children and converse with the adults. And I love all that I meet. The people with stories. Faded pictures on the wall. On a Sunday I reflect in the grass; bring flowers to the friends I’ve met along the way. I am not afraid of death. Life lived most vibrantly. As I myself am laid to rest, my body prepared as I have prepared others, there is little left to reflect on. I am happy. Myself.
Contact: blitzipestisoccido@hotmail.com |