The last
I spoke with Alan
He was
asleep in a wooden box
With the
lid closed
A
blanket covering his casket
Embroidered
in some foreign language,
That
reads, “Dead person inside”
which he
was.
He
needed that blanket
The
chapel was cold
and he
was so thin
Having eaten nothing for days
And
chilly like the dead.
I stood
guard over Alan’s body
The last
person in the chapel
A candle
burning
And the
air conditioning on.
I stood
there a long time
Not
wanting him to be alone
Waiting
for someone to remove his body
Only to
learn the staff was waiting for me to leave
So they
could.
I called
Joy
Sitting
alone in her office
Near the
sea
And
proposed
We chant
together
Which we
did
My cell
phone resting on Alan’s wooden coffin
The
speaker on
Joy
chanting softly into the phone
Me
chanting out loud
Alone in
the chapel
wondering
what if anything
the body
in the box
felt of
the vibration
of our
hearts
our
breaths
and our voices
our
prayers
and our
intentions.
We live in a small town
Joy and I
In a
small cottage
With a
dog
And one
mouse
Who -
while I was away at the funeral -
Must
have been practicing
His high
wire act
And had
fallen somehow
Straight
into the dog’s water bowl
and
drowned
Like the
mouse
Alan had
known years of high wire balancing
And had
fallen off his wire
Only to
land miraculously on his feet
Dazed
but still breathing
A dozen
times
He just
kept running
Every
time but once
Two
weeks after his death
I sent
Alan an email
With
Picasso’s line drawing
Of
Julius and Ethel Rosenberg -
It was
the anniversary of their deaths -
And
about the struggle in Palestine -
Which I
knew he’d want to hear about
And
would have had something to say
That
would have helped put my pain
In
perspective
But the
email returned,
With a
note that read,
“Out of
Office,”
Whereupon
I noticed my own high wire perch
And
losing balance
Fell
down praying
And so
glad
I had
chanted
Over
Alan’s coffin