Burial Fragments Poem by Bernadette Hall

It is the fifth year before the millennium . .the flux has passed
through me . I have wept much

it was the man who found the body . he removed two sheets
of opaque glass from the roof vent and entered the room . dislodging
tufts of ivy from the upper storey

I fail to mention . I fail to mention the morning light

the woman already knew . she had touched the stillness through
the locked door . she had touched the silence . she remembered
what to do though she could never have described it to you

there are three sisters and each one has a different gift . this one
has outrageous noise . this one irreverence . and this one laughter
. the woman summoned her sisters and they came running

they looked on the face of death . and it was neither familiar nor
unfamiliar . neither beautiful nor unbeautiful . neither reassuring
nor terrifying . it was what it was

the youngest placed a brooch of china roses at the throat . the eldest
laid a fine white cloth on the face . and one strewed lavender . the
man spun the silver screws down

this is a true account . as true as is possible given the possibilities
. this is the possible truth . there are bound to be others