by Debi Swim
And someone will come and do my hair
one final time, make-up my face, clothe
my body in a favorite outfit and fold my
hands one over the other and I’ll repose
as though I’ve just closed my eyes for a
moment. I’ll even wear my glasses which
is ironic but I guess after all this time I
wouldn’t look natural without them.
That’s what the old people say as they
pass by the coffin trying to look like
they’ve just dropped by for a short visit,
Oh, doesn’t she look natural. No, I want
to shout, I look waxy and my smile is
a Mona Lisa smile of let’s get this over
with. A millimeter short of a smirk. Finally,
they close the lid.
I know there is music and the preacher will
say all the right things. You’ll say I was a good
wife and my sister and brother will tell the
funny stories of our childhood. I imagine the
children and grandchildren wiping their eyes
as tears spill but I am alone in this ornate box
smiling my tight little smile, immune to grief,
keeping a stiff upper lip.
Note: Written in response to Prompt 364.
Debi Swim writes primarily to prompts. She is a wife, mother, grandmother and persistent WV poet.