Internment
       

Before the fistfuls of soil refill the hole, the names like bells peal
and repeal—

Before the blanketing of this bed, stones become a fitted sheet—

Before the gathering of the geological shroud, the shoulders a
frame for the shaking, the ear an antennae as if to tune into the
world's secrets one final time—

Before the laying of lips and hands, a pillow of earth like a sling
for the neck, an angle less than acute, the respectful roll and prop
of the torso—

Before the facing of the features to qiblah, the unfastening of the
kafan, as easily torn as modesty—

Before the removal of that false epidermis, roped in place, the
posing of extremities in a perennial of prayer-They are hardy in
most climate zones, those who are native and those deemed
invasive, those who are sent back and those who can never be
returned, sprouting for generations in the same ungenerous
ground—

Before the lowering of the body, one more bucket into the dry
well, the creep of the coffin, bobbing, a northern bald ibis
searching on the banks of the Firat River for the scarce meat of
beetles—

Before the cleansing of all that is corporeal, the rites for search and
rescue—

Before the sopping, sand-crusted findings—

Before the boarding and the crossing over—the cap-sized
measures for leave-taking—the braiding and braiding of faith is all
that may continue to grow—

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Copyright © 2019 Jen Karetnick All rights reserved
from The Crossing Over
Split Rock Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission