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The Eighth Day
by Carol DeCanio Abeles

From the kitchen
you talk to your son
and the next day
he's killed

and you say What?

you go there
as escort
for his body

it's in cargo

you have to
get him home

to bury him
which you do

watched by the crowd
he's the center
of attention

in his box

and it's an honor
standing in line
for a turn
to throw dirt
on top

then it's time
to leave
really leave

everyone's coming
to your house
it's a pot luck

And there's clamor
whispering
from the kitchen

in the big room
you sit
on the low couch

you hear their voices
chatting
as they eat from small plates

this can go on
for seven days

and on the eighth day
it will be different


 

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