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The Dead Aren't Like Us
by ellen

Bats fly above the dead lowered
Into sites for perpetual sleep
The dead don’t ask for flowers or tombstones
Their souls rise from concrete containers
Hover and laugh while we mourn

Those lost at sea
Or exploded in a plane
Don’t need containment
Bits of thumb and elbow scattered
Only the dead know where

While we fear fire, graft skin
Some dead are burned and urned
We, the living need tomb-green jade
Cloisonné from Beijing
Onyx from Mexico

Covered with enough green sod
For a deathtime
The dead aren’t like us
They ignore our clinging
Don’t sleep


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