POLITENESS AND WAGER
There are two flowers on the stairway, each in
a separate vase, on the landing shelf. People pass
and notice : the blue water - it seems, though it's
only blue because of colored glass - and the sunlight
throwing varied shadows of these items on the pale,
white-painted walls. Different dimensions all through
the day. Light passes and light changes, all that we see.
-
In dresses and gowns, some women pass. In cassocks
and beads, two priests go by, oddly. They are holding
a chalice, one, and a lit candle, the other. Liturgical
folk, for some reason here, going about their funereal
task. In the other room, as I see through, the deep
crimson back wall is crowded with more flowers,
funeral sprays and bouquets. Yes, yes, there is
someone's old body displayed, I see the open
casket in a strange half-light. Am I myself in
death or dying? Between two places I neither
really know or care of? Nay, I am well alive,
proven just by all these observations, no?
-
I wouldn't want this half-life ending to be blemished
nor - for that matter - abbreviated or cut short.
So, by those means, I am - I do suppose - placated
and made happy still. I see. I touch. I feel.
This is somehow living, and I will be
as nice as I can be.
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