Memories of Snow

The Viewing

Viewing the Body
of a Deceased Friend

I expect
her chest to rise and fall,
her eyes to blink,
her hands to rise out of the casket and grasp mine,
her mouth to open,
and her voice to speak
words of comfort,
recite stanzas of poetry,
or quote verses of scripture.

I look
for the missing essence,
that animated the hands,
that formed the thoughts,
that moved the mouth,
and that looked from the eyes
to recognize family,
friends,
and acquaintances.

The body
laying in the casket,
with its eyes closed
and hands resting on its abdomen,
is and isn't my friend;
it's the shell which remains
after the meat is removed;
it's like her photo
that sets on the casket's open lid--
a memento given to the past,
a memory left behind
when one moves on.

Poet's Note: ▼

I wrote this in Sharaf of 160 B.E.