Poem #79 of 365

Fascinated by the proper burial
and where it takes place,
you marvel at bodies in
boxes, bones in dirt,
when i've only seen humans
on riverside ghats
burning to the last
charred moment.

And, Al, my ex-housemate,
who worked a crematorium,
saw how oil flowed from the dead,
the fatter the body, the
higher the tide.

One day I'll be in Tibet to
see vultures at high table
and the ultimate ritual
flinging of bones.

And then there are the curtains
at night, keeping out shadows,
but always whispering softly
the remains of the day.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez