Past Death

I did not know her, here laid out,
a careful combing of the hair
not as I’d known it set before --
forehead laid bare, cleared silver strands;
not of my choosing, frame beside.

But father told he wanted this,
a final farewell to his wife,
though he knew, as did I, full-well,
she long had left; this trolley bare,
enforced that spirit flown the room.

By absence seeping beads drawn down --
the knowledge that we paused alone,
skeletal cage deserted now.
And since, the question posed myself --
should I dissuade through queries raised?

Poor memory’s now fixed in place --
this mask should not replace her face;
some say dread visit reinforced,
that shock fires mould of empty clay --
unnecessary proof for me.

For him, for his, I dare not say;
the sixty years entitle him
to linger, lose, yet loose again
the bond and knots that tied them close.
And sons accompany past death.