up

raymond chandler once said,

"to say goodbye, is to die

a little."

I don't exactly remember

what I said that to her

that evening.

the next morning at dawn

when the phone rang somehow

I felt - she'd be gone,

forever.

I remember walking up to her corpse

shaking it, gently believing she'd

wake up.

we wrapped her in sheets

and carried down the stairs.

dead people feel heavy

and smell like rotten fish.

the stretcher was comfy

and the hearse - clean.

we cremated her,

watching the electric funeral pyre

churning out black smoke through its

sky-high chimneys.

the tears wouldn't come for a long while,

but when they did, it hit me like a

bullet - I was 17.