The Corpse Washer
as I move the wash cloth, praying
toward your shadow left behind.
A
bomb exploded, causing harm,
tearing
limbs, made others blind,
in a street of shops, as we were saying
our
farewells, so calm, without alarm --
blending
blood, glass bits, and steel,
where couples walked or shopped and dined.
This
one lean statue on a bench
of
marble waits for me to wash
and shroud, before it disappears.
The
face I knew. Its features wrench
me
back from sleep and unknown fears.
And as I finish, slowly toss
the
remnant used, my fingers clench
the
bowl to bathe a lonely tree,
feeding
on the dead, and tears.
Royal
Rhodes
Royal
Rhodes is a retired teacher of global religions, religion & literature, and
death & dying. His poems have appeared in print and online journals,
including:
BEARINGS, Snakeskin, The Lyric, Cholla Needles, Harbinger Asylum, and in a series of art/poetry collaborations with The Catbird [on the Yadkin] Press in North Carolina. His current project is an exhibition on The Art of Trees.
service to humankind is the ultimate sacrifice in my book, i usually wonder if we are worth such effort. some days i see that we are
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