Weekend Poem

Body Blue

They place the body in a quiet room
Behind curtains

For the family to mourn

In privacy; to weep, to clutch

At the warmth fading

From her hands,

To caress her lifelike face.

We are all so sorry for their loss

(I am so sorry for your loss)

I am so sorry

Brown bodies, black bodies, white.
Yellowed, bruised, bodies become blue.

We live within arms and legs,

Torsos, minds within skulls

Conjuring visions beyond body,

When a body goes cold.

Black bodies, pale bodies

Lined up like piano keys.

Let us turn to hymn number 533.

Let us turn the page.

It’s time to mumble along

To the next lachrymal song.

We open our eyes,

And lose the concept of color.

We breathe deep

And lose the sense of smell.

We reach to touch

And lose the ability to feel.

Flesh stiffens, gathers pallor,

The skin grows turgid as the insides bloat.

(This seems like exploitation

But I’m just trying not

To die inside---

Cold corpse-like

Where I’ve drawn my own curtains

Around a flickering flame.

Lonesome inner shivering

When the engine keeps on running,

Wasting ambient heat,

Saps strength, a will

To keep striving.

You’re just beat)

My body is soft and hard and angled and curved,

Defined by numbers; pounds, inches and feet.

But these fingers are the limits of my reach.

This heel is the depth of my step.

This skull is the extent of my knowing.

Bodies at their best are bio-machines

That take up space,

Heat up, cool down

Eat, drink, get tired.

When the body expires

It just gets in the way.

(Can’t be stashed in attics or closets)

Elegies and wakes elapse

In a whirlwind of lost time.

We bury the ones that accept their decay.

But about the bodies

That can’t yet go in the ground----

With hearts that doggedly beat,

Lungs that respire

Eyes that open to morning light,

Minds that wake to a chilled dawn

And must brush their teeth,

Get dressed,

Tie their shoes,

Comb their hair,
Check their lists

Get ready to make rounds---

We have nothing more to say.

There are always forms to be completed,

To document the recent cold dead.

The county sends them out after a few days:

Time of death, immediate causes

Check here for autopsy

Time and date of passing

Sign here.  

Sign here.

It sits on my desk like an anvil

Strapped to my waist

But I’m landlocked

Wishing someone would toss it

Into a frigid sea,

Drag me down into the depths;

A silencing final mercy.

(This here is my own form,
The one that gets filled out next,

To make sure a fire still burns,

Before the embers all die,

Before I forget I’m still alive.)

The ones we lose,

Once laid in the ground,

Never go alone;

They take a piece of us with them,

Exchanged for a dusting of ashes.

The sun sets, the smoke rises

And we gradually cool

7/1/18