Cave to Cosmos

Cave to Cosmos

When my father died
his flesh became so thin,
transparent
you almost saw his marrow
shining through.
I made an oath
not to speak that day,
a rare and harrowing thing for me,
so chatty.
I supposed the silence
might slice open
my knotted ropes
and twisted bindings.
I lost that bet.
We had to borrow
a suit of clothes
for the burial,
though he knew well enough
the grubs would come
marching.
He wagered that at the end
he would either see God,
or at the least,
the ones who worked for Him.

Written for the Writer's Cramp.