Funeral Dress

Work in progress, just an idea that came to me. Enjoy.

A coal-black bible rests-- newly dusted, creaseless pages--on my lap, its flesh hues deeper than my crinkled and now graying dress. My funeral dress. The one kept rolled tightly in a ball at the back of the closet, hidden from sight. The priest blots at his gleaming forehead, his rag yellowed with aged sweat. His bible is red with gold lettering embedded into its surface, pages fluttering in the dry breeze. A lone fly lands at the corner of the tome in my lap, cleaning its antennae solemnly, tiny legs pressed firmly together in prayer-stance. The great red book closes noisily as the priest wheezes into the stained kerchief, beckoning us to say our goodbyes. Coffin-wood, the scent harshly delivered in the delicate breeze, clouds my nostrils. We make our way to the casket, heels sinking into the muddy soil, Sunday’s dress shoes caked with thick mud. Others tiptoe with bare feet, afraid to wake those resting below. Bible in my left hand, I reach out to touch the face-- its features poised in robotic tranquility. The hardened flesh seems to glisten in the blazing afternoon sun and I wonder if the dead, too, perspire in this clinging heat…
            The body is lowered- the wounded earth greedily accepting what has always belonged to her. My hands close in mock prayer, the bible lay on the grass between my feet. Please god, let my dress rest in peace. Amen.