SHUTTING THE DOOR ON
SILENCE & SADNESS
The Mardi Gras beads I saw on the gravestone
perplexed me to no end for hours : a joy to be
joyous in a sad situation, the play of the living
in the dead's own station. Rows of white
stones, somber and sour, with this one
standing out - bedecked in color and beads -
a certain power of taking over the moment of
doubt and sadness, refiguring it somehow in
joy, and staging - in their way - the
transfiguration. Beads and their color,
draped like a flag, on a solid white
marker where Death (only now
perhaps) held its revels. Alone.
Without an audience, or anyone
to witness the act.
SILENCE & SADNESS
The Mardi Gras beads I saw on the gravestone
perplexed me to no end for hours : a joy to be
joyous in a sad situation, the play of the living
in the dead's own station. Rows of white
stones, somber and sour, with this one
standing out - bedecked in color and beads -
a certain power of taking over the moment of
doubt and sadness, refiguring it somehow in
joy, and staging - in their way - the
transfiguration. Beads and their color,
draped like a flag, on a solid white
marker where Death (only now
perhaps) held its revels. Alone.
Without an audience, or anyone
to witness the act.
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