Friday, May 04, 2007

An Expedition to the Dead Sea without a canteen

They turned her to dust in the morning
Wheeling a cold gurney
forward into
the heated penumbra
Her strawberry nightie lightly floating
As the
rollers moved the old flesh forward
Those arms that gripped
my arm
Those lips, kissed a thousand times
Those loins that bore me squalling into this
The sparks of sweet neurons gone in 1500 degrees
No more wake up
No more microwaved coffee
All her deeds, good and otherwise
Into the
dissolution of a “ Power Pack II” Cremation system
hours to disassemble
Six decades of a Mother’s love
Suddenly I am alone
on the salt flats
Dizzied, stunned, disoriented and silenced
The dust
stings my eyes
The salty tears wash them clean


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