the funeral finishes but not the
sadness. as the benediction
ascends on the wind of a collective sigh, two thousand mourners pull each other
to solemn standing. i grip my
father’s arm. then-waiting. no moving, no sighing, no
breathing. we linger in our refuge
of stillness before they take the body away: one second for every grief, but
only one, too soon to end. any
disturbance and she will somehow be more gone than before. the cellist places bow on strings;
church door opens. how dark was before! the melody paces our lungs expanding, the music translates the sun radiance into air, and we know what to do (we're breathing.)
