she was dead. as a door nail.
but she looked great. really.
her tiny nails polished red,
nose powder dusted.
they found the dress she
wore to her grand-daughter’s
wedding in the back of the closet:
black velveteen with sparkles,
she’ll be dancin’ in heaven surely.
in her repose, her memory found
its way back – her brow free of
loss and confusion. pretty settled.
even her spectacles magically
resurfaced to find her face.
mourners chatted easily about,
her life was lived long and
they were used to her in it,
but I’d never seen her before and
there is no doubt about it,
she was dead. but she looked good.