When she passed, my spirit became cold…
as cold as its lips on that last day I touched
them.
That last day was an open coffin “Celebration
of Life.”
Its make-up was perfect,
its hair straight,
its eyes closed,
its spirit gone.
I’d begged the officers to allow me one last
look before they zipped it up… one last look while the remnants of her spirit
still hovered nearby… but the County Chaplin said it would be better for me to
see her at the funeral. I don’t remember how he put it but that was what he
meant. My reaction was extreme. I cried! I cursed! “Who do you think I am, you
think I’m a baby! Do you think I haven’t seen death before!”
I was an obstacle to the procedures of denial
to be ignored as humanely as possible. The horrors of war are the horrors of
civili-fucking-zation!
They zipped it up and took it away and three
days later, at the funeral chapel, after she was long gone to wherever she, the
Bonnie of her went, I stood over this dead image knowing the last time I really
saw her was all I would have to hold on to.
Memory
The last time I saw her face before mine,
her hair matted to her brow with sweat…
the rest splayed over the pillow
like she was ready to order,
“I’m ready for my glam shot, maestro.”
She was always ready for a glam shot.
The girl had an affair with the camera.
They surely loved each other.
How could I be jealous?
Ah, to feel her body convulsing,
gasping at times clutching,
pushing away and pulling me in…
forever in time and place dissolved…
Oh, god, there is never enough of eternity
here
in this embrace… in this coming back… in this going to…
Then, time stops… her rapture complete...
Our eyes fixed one on one,
that coming and going… that orgasm.
What do I see in those eyes
the color of a sparrow’s wing?
What do I hear? What do I feel
when seeing hearing and feeling
evaporate into a memory of
a moment?
And there she stays in memory…
a close-up… But it ain’t over yet.
The last time I saw her smile,
her lips were warm,
our eyes open to each other…
our souls cut through a jungle of inhibitions…
we chased the tiger…
the tiger chased us…
there’s a cadence to it…
Stop --- Orgasm…
a cheap word
but coming and going is the best I can do.
Has anyone ever seen a smile that glowed?
I have, in that moment.
We have no words until she is done...
no words but one more spasm
and a chortle.
Laughter followed… musical really.
It too has a cadence like orgasm…
it too moves us by spasms…
spasms of bodies pleased to the core…
every cell celebrating…
relieved of their chains,
muscles moving in and out
in their own directions,
thoughts unleashed
basking in the warmth of a love
No longer telling itself what can and ought
to be except for the rhythm of it, the sweet tones of it… the bypassing of the
brain straight as a dagger to the heart of it.
The rational mind denies all of it.
Hard to write about something you never
believed in ‘til it happened.
But words do come, her face glowing she said,
“I wish we still smoked.”
Never knowing what’s coming from her next I
cede, “Okay?”
“This would be a good time for a cigarette,
you know, soft focus, light over and behind you… you roll over and light two
cigarettes.”
“I can see it… the light’s direct… on your
face now… the shadows are gone.”
“Welcome back. I guess they call this stage
un-coming.”
“I promise, every time I don’t smoke, I’ll
think of you.”
“Yeh, I wish we still smoked.”
