3.27.2012 @ 9:23:00 AM
We Wake the Dead
We wake the dead, the Steadfast and I
and hang drenched souls spiffy and dry
along clotheshorses, waving undone
fancy fluttering fringes in the sun.
A little touch: the cheek, the bone
arrests the bloated heart of stone
and from the grave rises again
and from the dead now knows no end.
But baffled by the newness of light,
he finds the Steadfast strangest of sight
upon this he asks, with weary voice
“Who is he that wakes with no noise?”
The Steadfast answers, “It is I, you see,
I come to carry you home with me.
Life is more imminent than death,
so come, little grinner, as you know best.”
And we pick the worms from the grinner’s ear,
dust his coat and flick away his tears.
When his dreams are pieced back and dry,
he wrestles a question of who and why.
At this, my master heaves a sigh
but smiles and tells the grinner and I:
“From the grave I rose again,
now from the dead you’ll know no end.”
-- Kira de Ocampo
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