Tevyn Padilla-Ulloa
After someone’s death
I picture their decaying body,
The pale skin tightening to the bones,
The hair falling off,
The insects all around,
The rotting smell.
It helps me let go.
But you…
I cannot picture you,
It is not that I have not tried.
I can picture you in the morgue bag,
Inside an anti-COVID-19 sealed casket.
I can picture your body sore
From the tubes and cables,
From your long ICU stay.
I can picture your greasy, messy hair,
And your hospital beard.
But in my picture
You are sleeping,
As you used to fall asleep
All Sunday morning
After a Saturday night shift.
In my picture, there is no room for decay,
I guess I am not ready to let go,
Not you, not yet…