Thursday, June 4, 2009

(1/4/08- Morning after wake): Dear Sœur Suze,

L’Éternel est mon berger:
je ne manquerai de rien.
Il me fait reposer dans le
I hope you’re lying in green pastures.

You know, they read that
psalm at the wake,
the deacons and the deaconesses
walking single file into the church.
It wasn’t a large affair,
I mean, it was a big church
but the service was small, humble, like you.

The pastor was supposed to console us.
I guess in a way he did, how he kept
rambling on about the night.
I wanted him to say something like
“It’s when it gets as dark as it can get
the stars come out.” But he didn’t.

He just kept going on and on about the night.

I wonder what souls look like:
where they go. Is yours a wanderer?
Is it floating, an effervescent bubble,
Like the one she just popped by
coming into my room and asking questions?

You can’t ask Death questions like
Why? or What are you doing?
I read once that Death is like
a blind man, pointing a bony finger…
something like that.

I pray for your soul.
That it isn’t just out there,
that it has found a resting place,
that you have found a resting place,
where Death can’t interrupt anymore.

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