Another mini-series about processing death. This time about my fiancée’s grandmother.
This particular series is the first time I’ve written about death since becoming a Christian and being saved. It is filled with imagery specifically about that belief structure.

Paper Jail

This tight and humid skin is only
A paper jail for you
A shell. Fragile, weak
And ready to leave.

We only see some small and
Quiet side
Of an incredible transaction

You look up and to the left, for hours
And wait for glory to wrap around you
Something much more beautiful
Awaits

Distant Body/Event Horizon

You are a million miles away
With a surface made from
A weak and nothing material
We will not see your soul when it bursts
With blinding light, outside

I sit beside you reading
It’s completely silent, like a vaccuum
Took all of the air from the room
I turn my head to look at you, my neck makes no noise
Against the fabric of my jacket

Something isn’t right with your image.
I trace every shadow and line
Seeking a subject of visual scrutiny
And finally pin down, under your arms, a glow
That hasn’t always been there.
Bright orange–where is it coming from?
I broaden my search
Eyes sweeping rapidly across you
Until at once, the gestalt before me comes into focus
You are lit from underneath
Your entire being
Has an iron-hot silhouette
Like an event has begun

Lensing

Something burns so brightly
On the other side of this worn surface.
Chalky, fragile, stretched so tight
A gray curtain hiding this
Raging, turbulent, powerful energy.

In this room I can only hear your breath
But beneath it is a deep roar
Ready to be set free
As your surface turns to embers
And you escape so beautifully
From our sight

Glory Cloth

Your absence leaves a quiet in the room

We are watching you
Leave this poorly draped cloth
That soon will not contain your Glory
Underneath is a beautiful pool of life
And it retreats ever deeper in your bones
Shying from this weak material exterior
Cocooning something so beautiful
That I can hardly imagine
Where you are going

The Day You Died

Your paper skin hides the event
Loud, violent, beautiful
Raging deep red and Scorching through its confinement
Your mortal shedding
Burns in wisps
Just beneath your blanket
Hidden from our sight
We only see some small and
Quiet side
Of this incredible transaction