The Wake

The Wake

A bottle of Cuervo
sat next to the sink.
All kinds of foods and
running thoughts
jotted down, next to the numbers
of organ players, morticians
and ministers.
Friends and family came in
and out
leaving a bit of mist from the cold
to lay upon the shock.
The world seemed , at times, running,
at times, completely stopped.
Yet never long enough for the crying
to overwhelm everything.

In a plain t-shirt with no makeup
she sat and drank her beer
and my beer
and remembered for me his fight with cancer
and a quiet death with dignity.
“He never complained of the pain,
even at the end. He asked us to keep going
not to cancel the wedding.
It’ll be a Mexican one
with Western shirts and boots.
Tassles and Bolo ties
which bounce as we dance.”

She gave me a straight look
and lowered her voice.
“There was a man, an angel, I swear
that visited us at the hospital.
He came in the room
and asked for Clifton,
I asked him his name, but
he just called himself an old friend.
Then he walked over to the bed
and lightly touched Cliftons hand, saying
it’s alright buddy, we’re ready when you are.
Then he turned and walked into the hallway.
I went after him, to ask him his name again
but he was gone.”

That’s when I had to
step outside for a cigarette.
The light from the large TV set
shown through the back door
On the ground covered with filters
and a star in the window, of the house next door
we stopped for a minute, and shared a joke
then stared out at the darkness
out of stories and content with the silence.

The Wake

bill bell

Everett, United States

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Artwork Comments

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  • JRGarland
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