On a Sunday Morning Sidewalk with Lazarus

Edited because, man. Non-breaking spaces, amirite?

 

We are kin, you and I.

A common trauma

Binds us like thread.

 

We have seen Death with a capital D,

A tired bureaucrat in a crowded office,

Thin and sallow, bleary eyed.

 

Papers, please,” Death drones,

And we show them,

And Death shakes its head.

 

This will not do.

We need these in triplicate.

You’ll have to come back.”

 

And gasping, choking through

Mouths stuffed with cotton,

We come back.

 

How thoughtful

Our friends and family were

To dress us in our finest clothes,

 

To leave two bits over the eyes

For bus fare home!

Perfumes and oils

 

To mask the stench of three days

Spent in soil, spent soiled.

It’s almost impossible to tell

 

Where we’ve been, what we’ve seen,

If we even know ourselves,

If we don’t shake our heads and say,

 

I was never gone. Not really.”

But I see you, Lazarus, and you see me.

And there is something we recognize:

 

A scar borne with pride.

A stigmata of the soul.

An emptiness of the eyes.

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