Anne F. Walker

Eyelids shut look sewn
by black lash threads.

Still with us was the smell of disinfectants
                deodorant chemicals
     from the death room.

I broke when the cross cloth
covered your shut coffin.

I fell into the red crested black water
like grief

held standing only by strings of thought spun invisibly into wire tight webs by my child whom
i held
at the back of the huge church in the Avenues.

          The beautiful voiced man