My last aunt died August 2016.
The Hour Before
At Blackwater Baptist cemetery,
behind the loose-shingled steeple
a massive cedar shades
bent askew by centuries
of blistering heat and pitiless ice
as I wait beneath, bough-shaded,
for the service under a blue tent
some seventy feet away where her body
rests in its wooden cocoon.
Dragonflies surf heatwaves
as sweat soaks my collar and tie.
how spacetime curves into that
black hole singularity
under the coffin,
and how the vision of her smiling face—
beatific—beams through the tears to come.