.
A filtered cigarette comfortably
posed in her right hand
her raspy laughter
calls those around her closer.
The small and unassuming
dark-skinned
woman coughs. again.
Well we all have to die of something, right?
It's rhetorical of course.
It is wú, even. And no answer
is expected. She hopes i will help
instead with the details of her
final hooray. Scribbled minutia:
pine or oak, silk pillow
[,shubert's ave maria
Nunc et in
hora mortis
Et in hora
mortis nostrae,]
the fuschia dress she wore
to so-and-so's wedding
last fall, her wedding ring. . .
And thus begins the fateful
purging of love and death,
of births and tears and
that time she laughed
so hard she nearly
peed her pants (remember?)
Stories shared unadorned
of a life in progress
until today.
.
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